Birthday letter

Dear James,

I'm shamelessly co-opting Robyn's tradition of writing birthday letters to her kids (please see newsofthelius.com for hers).  Happy second birthday, my love!  I'm so glad you were born.  You were in no hurry to arrive, but I like to think you were pleased with the results.  We have pictures of you from a half hour after your birth in which you look delighted to the point of being smug, even though you were still so new on the scene that your hands hadn't fully turned pink yet.

You have always cut a wide swath everywhere you go.  If personalities had colors, yours would be scarlet.  You remind me overwhelmingly of your dad -- for instance, both of you are the type who would be at no loss for what to do with a bullhorn if you were presented with one -- but you have your own sparkle.  Consequently, I adore everything about you.

Right now your big thing is decking yourself out in your blue whale hat, with white socks worn over your hands to the elbow like opera gloves, and singing along to Elvis.  The effect is a sort of toddler drag, and is charming.  

You have also been very kind, in recent months, about Thomas's appearance on the scene.  I don't mean to suggest that you've taken any of this lying down!  But you are, as a rule, very sweet to him, and like his waking up to play with you.  (I will say that this caused logistical problems when I was making your birthday cake.  I'd settled Thomas down for a nap in his swing, plunked you in front of a 1972 "Sesame Street" video, and had big plans to frost and decorate the cake when you announced, "Mas [pronounced "muss"] off, Mom!"  "Yes, he's taking a nap," I answered.  You grabbed the swing, broke its rhythm, and gave it a good shake.  "Mas BACK ON, Mom!" you announced, full of happy pride, as Thomas jolted awake and began to shout.  "Damn," I thought.  But the cake got frosted anyway.)

Love you, little guy.  I can't wait to see what lies ahead for you.

Mama