2

Dear Ozzy,

Today you are 2, which seems like a very small number for such a very big boy. You are in the 95th percentile for weight, 81st for height, 98th for head circumference and 172nd for spirit. I made up that last number, though I am 1000% sure your you-ness cannot be contained, even if you do have a big head. You are a boy who spills over, yogurt and bathwater, smashed blueberries that fall from your fingers splayed, laughter and funny faces, shrieks and sand and no as a question--always like that--rising. No?

There is something buoyant about you, something that dances behind your eyes. Oh, I know how cheesy that sounds, but it's true. You are all mirth, a bubbling up of possibility. Quite honestly, you are one of the funniest people I know even with your limited vocabulary. Here are some of your favorite things to say: Wake uh-up! Where'd it go? There it is! Hi guys! And somehow these are the funniest things anyone has ever said. Your facial expressions, hand gestures, even the way you walk is comedic--and I don't doubt it is all intentional either, how you do something and then look at us, expectant.

This is who you are at 2: a boy who runs straight for the water, who climbs anything and turns it all over, who jumps and blows kisses and denies ever going poop. Gucky? you say as you hand me things you do not want, yucky, and I take them and you lean into me like that and I cannot breathe you are so, so--you know that feeling when you are about to laugh? That bubble in your throat, how it swells before it bursts? This is how I love you, an absolute pure primitive joy of an ohmygod, this. You. Spilling over into my everything, my beautiful, blurry sweet boy.

Great big gulping gasps of zerberts on your belly. Thank you for everything that you are.
Love,
Mommy

1. 
7 days old.