Well, you’re 2 years of age Baby Rangirl. Or Big Girl Rangirl. The inches on your legs keep piling up, the size of your head continue to defy the neck opening on your shirts, and the crap you say remains priceless.

-“Oh my God!” in the most convenient of contexts, such as when we humiliate you in front of people
-“No thank you!” to everything from brushing your teeth to taking a bath
-“It’s red!” to every question that begs for a color, any non-red color, as the answer

Next up is to get you potty trained. I am so annoyed with changing diapers, and I barely change them as is. It’s funny when you yell at me to “go away!” as you crap your diapers- perhaps a sign of more shooing your old man away when I’m all up in your conversations to boys and trips to illegally buy booze.

Your 2nd birthday did bring the unfortunate moving of your celebration date yet again. Last year the New Hampshirian snow forced us to move your birthday celebration up north to April. This year you got an ear infection which moved the New York celebration to – well, April. I’d dub your honorary birthday in April if your grandparents didn’t birthday-block with their anniversary, the same way they currently occupy your actual birthday with their own in February.

We even need to change the theme of your birthday because you shifted from the love of Shrek to Toy Story. So much that you are going to bed with hard plastic figurines of Buzz and Woody instead of stuffed ponies and other sexist animals.

I did not expect you to grow up as quick as you did- you’re even posing for pics.

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You’re even talking to the birds like an old lady.

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