Two Years.

 

Alexander Quentin Brooks

12/23/07 12:51pm

8lb, 2oz

When Alex was born, they wrapped him in a blanket and laid him on my chest, and he stuck out his bottom lip at me in the world's biggest pout. "Oh, lord," I said, "this one's going to be a drama queen."

Two years later, he's so much more than a baloney loaf in a blanket. He loves books and blocks and puzzles. He doesn't like oranges, but he does like pasta and oranges and tomatoes. And he's got a sweet tooth, of course. He's very smart. His teachers tell me he speaks very clearly for a two-year-old; he loves to look at books and be read to; he already recognizes a solid half of the alphabet and is starting to associate the letters with words and sounds; he can sometimes count to fourteen (providing you're willing to start at 3, since 1 and 2 don't interest him); and we're working on colors. He adores Elmo, but doesn't zombify in front of the TV the way his sister did. He's surprisingly polite and reasonable for a two-year-old: he often says "please" and "thank you" without prompting, and is sometimes even willing to share with others; and when I tell him it's time to put his blanket or toy away and go to school, he doesn't generally fuss about it. He's a sweet, affectionate, happy little boy who loves to give hugs and kisses. The Terrible Twos are making an appearance, but aren't taking over entirely.

Happy Birthday, Alex! You're loved more than I can possibly express with mere words.

(But I totally called it on the whole "drama queen" thing.)