You are two years old.
You get a monthly kids’ magazine called High Five and you know it’s for you as soon as it show up. You love the stories and songs in it, but the big surprise for us is that you can find about half the items in the hidden pictures puzzle:
You enjoy spinning to make yourself dizzy, washing things in the sink, and practicing your jumping skills.
You want to sing your water bottle to sleep when we put it in the fridge because Mama said it was going for a nap once when we laid it on its side. You now like to do this with certain toys, and last night you did it with a Cheerio that was apparently worn out from bring on your high chair tray.
You get rides in the laundry basket after Mama puts the clean clothes away.
You are learning how to somersault.
You have begun to protest diaper changes by trying to sit up through them. Often you can be persuaded to calm down with a song or the promise of playing with a favored object like a nail clipper (really), but on the night of your birthday you bumped your head, so sometimes Mama reminds you of that when you’re doing your Baby Abs of Steel routine.
You enjoy washing dishes so much that you sometimes have a meltdown if you can’t wash them when you want to. You also like scrubbing the shower floor, and often enlist the help of your bedtime buddy.
You have begun to state clothing preferences, usually by asking to wear your robot shirt.
You can get up on the piano bench and play by yourself.
You refer to yourself as “you,” often while pointing your chest for emphasis.
You refer to Mama as “I.”
You swiftly declare yourself done with your meal if told you can have something you want after you finish eating.
You have begun to deploy the phrase, “I don’t like it.”
You finally got to go out in a fresh snowfall, but refused to touch the snow. Mama suspects this was because you got a face full of it the day before when we walked to a neighbor’s house while it was falling. You stomped around in it a bit, but were disappointed that we couldn’t make a snowman from it because it was so dry.
You recently met a newborn baby, whom you studiously ignored except to ask Mama to put him down and to say goodbye to him.
You speak in full sentences about 20 percent of the time.
You began eating pasta a few weeks ago, but once again refused to touch or taste your birthday cake.
You know how to get down from the big bed safely.
You delight in playing hide and seek with Mama, especially when you’re in your looniest pre-bedtime state and thus most likely to run into walls and furniture while scurrying from room to room. But she has a hard time resisting your requests because of the pure joy you radiate when you find her and throw yourself against her, squealing.
You enjoy sitting in a big boy chair when we have snacks at the mall.
You made your first attempt to sing an actual song on your birthday. It was “Happy Birthday,” and you took artistic license with the lyric, proudly warbling, “happ burfday for you.”
You are two years old, and it’s a struggle to refrain from calling you “baby.”
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Mama-Come-Lately 