23

Dear Claire,
Yesterday marks your 23rd month of life. I've been trying to get you to practice saying, "I'm 2" and showing you how to indicate this with your little fingers. So far, you're not interested. That's okay, we've got time. Good Friday wasn't. You were sick all night and we kept passing you back and forth, cleaning up the mess. At one point, in my exhaustion, I tried to snuggle you into our bed but you wouldn't have it. Ra-ching-chair (rocking chair), you moaned, until I gave in and rocked you for what felt like an eternity. That night made me doubt my ability to handle the long nights with the new baby. I forgot how horrible you feel after saying up all night. Thankfully, you were better by Saturday and you spent the next few days reminding us why we thought having another kid was a good idea.
You got sidewalk chalk in your Easter basket and even before you knew what it was, you were pleased. You were not pleased with the little egg hunt I set up for you, as the eggs had (inedible) plastic dinosaurs in them. When you opened the eggs, you shrieked and actually shed tears in response to their lack of chocolate. I'll make a note of that for next year.

For a while now, your very favorite thing has been buses. You are always pleased when Dada brings one home from work, but you especially liked this one. The other morning as he was loading up the truck for work, you stood at the door and shouted, "Go Go Shop!" and "Go Go Dada!" like a crazed miniature cheerleader. I'll gladly shout "Go Go Claire!" long after you'll wish I wouldn't. I love you, Clairegirl.
Love,
Mama