Two!

My Munchkin is two. Our Munchkin. Talking sentences full of "I want to go swimming" and "Mama stop the car and help you put the sandals on your ponies" and "Auntie Soo-see give you a kiss-o!" Asking to watch TV, demanding to wear a skirt, trying to put on her own shoes, her own pants, her own pyjamas. Still wanting her bottle and to hold my hand to come down the stairs: "I hold the railing! And your hand!" Two. A full head of curly hair, and round cheeks for smooching. Round belly and smelly feet. Two arms tights around my neck and a kiss on the lips.


Two.

She carries the empty gift bags around the house, "going shopping wif Mom!" and sits at the dining room table, trying to get a tiny pink plastic cowboy hat on a tiny pink plastic pony: "I figured it out! I figured it out!" and "It's very beautiful!"


We had a party, a couple of family members, a couple of friends, a couple of kids and cousins. A wading pool, a sunny day, a green lawn, a barbecue. Frozen watermelon cubes and cherry tomatoes dipped in ranch dressing. A chocolate cake.

A tricycle.


A moment: As Pynchon and I busied ourselves with the new barbecue, Munchkin ran up behind me, and threw her arms around my leg. "Hug, Mama," she asked, "Down here, give you a hug on your chest." And so I bent down, unwrapping her from my thigh and folding her into my arms, chest to chest. Our little girl. Two.