Dear Avacakes,

When I began my last letter to you, I meant for it to become a regular feature here.  Alas, as with so many things I begin with the best of intentions, it has not turned out that way.  But I’m here now, and so I will attempt to cover all of the delightful little changes since my last letter to you.

Your speech is improving and you have a definite mastery of the word “No.”  Do you want to eat dinner now?  “No.”  Would you like some peaches instead of applesauce for the 15billionth day in a row?  “No.”  Ready for nite-nite?  “NO”.  Come on, let’s not color on the walls, but on this lovely paper Mommy bought you.  “No”.   On the flip side of that you’ve learned the word “help”, and it’s delightful to have you bring something to me when you can’t figure it out on your own and say “help”.  The one word I had hoped would take you longer to figure out (both the word and the meaning) is the word “hurt”.   No matter how much I may want to wrap you up in cotton wool and protect you from the world, I cannot.  Even at the tender age of two, you’ve learned that some things give you owies.   At least this time it was cleared up with a cream and some hugs.  The harder hurts, the ones of the heart that I know you will experience later on, will not be remedied so easily.

You acquired a new skill over the weekend, one that has me scrambling to find those door knob covers that were purchased so long ago in preparation for this day.  After months of me trying to get you to twist the doorknob instead of just gingerly shaking it, on Friday you managed the “twist and pull”.  Overcoming my horror at the fact that you can now open doors was a burst of maternal pride that had me clapping and yelling “Yaaay!”.  So much so that you actually took a bow.

I love watching you imitate your favorite TV characters.  If Caillou puts his finger on his chin while contemplating something, so do you.  If he growls while pretending to be a bear, so do you.  You also imitate pretty much everything Mommy and Daddy do, too.  After watching me brush my teeth one morning, you took your own brush, ran it across your teeth and promptly spit on to the floor.  You seem to have missed that whole “Spit in the SINK” part, but that’s ok.  You’ll figure it out.

You are going through a shy phase right now.  It started with you hiding your face when encountering a strange man, particularly an older man.  That has pretty much led to an aversion to any and all strangers now.  The first sign something is wrong is that you will go completely still.  Then you will look down at the floor, unblinking. If by chance one of us misses these early cues, the next clue, screaming and crying will surely alert us that a stranger is nearby, and GASP! trying to make eye contact with you.  Never fear, little one.  Mommy or Daddy is always close with a warm hug and some reassuring words to make it all better.

One habit our little family has a longstanding tradition of is sport belching.  Yes, Ava, you come from the classiest background.  Burps in our house are rated, according to hang time, bass and volume.  It is also the habit of your father and I, once the burping and judging of said burp is over, to look at the burper and say “pig!”.  Rather hypocritical, I know, based upon the aforementioned point scale.  However, none of this has escaped your notice.  If either your father or I burp, you are quick to look at us, grinning  and say “PIG!”

The enthusiasm you display for picture drawing now is much more than those tentative first swipes of crayon on paper.  Now it’s bold strokes, strong swirls.  You have a penchant for purple and  yellow, and to my chagrin, black.  Thank heaven for washable markers.

Sometime in the last month you decided that baths are the work of the devil and you’d rather shower with Mommy, thankyouverymuch.  So each night, we hop in and you squeal with delight as the warm spray hits your tiny little body.  I have to fill up your green plastic cup with water, over and over.  You dump it all out and hand it back, asking for “more”.  Or sing, “more, more, more”.    (thanks Andrea True)  Once we’ve cleaned you from head to toe, you hold up your arms, grinning, as I pick you up and hold you closer to the water.  You open your mouth wide, and take in as much water as your little mouth will hold.  And then, with an evil little smile….spit water all over me.   Even though you’re shivering, we still have to chase you down to dry you off once the shower is over.  Nothing delights you more than prancing around naked, your tiny little bottom wiggling as you run through the house.

I’m constantly amazed at your sweet spirit and generosity.  You will gladly share the last bite of anything with us.  Sometimes you will stop playing and run over and embrace me for no apparent reason.  I  hear you say “hug” softly, as you put your arm on my shoulder and gently pat it with your hand.  Any other child your age, upon finding a bag of cookies, would dive in and eat as many as possible before being caught by the parent police.  Not you.  You put it back where you found it, come running to me and take me to the cookies.  You hand me the bag and hold up one finger, indicating you’d like “just one”.  How can I say no to that?

I’ve learned a lot about life by watching you change from a baby to a little girl.  My heart swells and explodes with pride and joy every time I look at your lovely face.  Some days, I’m not sure who is learning more, me or you.  What I do know is that each day with you is a gift.  I can’t wait to see what the next day brings.