Dear Peanut,

You are two! I absolutely positively cannot believe it. It seems like only yesterday we were welcoming you into the world. 

You are a fiercely independent, exuberant, loving whirlwind of joy. You are focused, determined, and strong-willed. And you are funny. You've learned that making people laugh is one of life's pleasures, and you now frequently announce "Harper funny!" while opening your face into a wide-eyed, wide-toothed grin of fake laughter.

Your language explodes by several new phrases a day, in English and Spanish. You've mastered many word combinations to tell us exactly what you want, where you want everyone, and what everyone should do next. Things like, "no mama, dada chair, you sit there and Elmo sit here and eat grapes." Your most frequent combinations include "Harper need that, Harper want that, no mama stop, Harper's turn," and "my got it!"

You sing. Twinkle twinkle is top of your repertoire - "clinkle clinkle up above the world so high likeeeeAdiamond in the kguy." Happy birthday and row row row your boat - "merrrly merrly merrly merrly life is buddadeam" - are a close second and third. You dance. Mostly to the songs played by Violet the bear, but also to yourself while singing and also when no one is looking and you can be found bopping side-to-side in your high chair. 

You love to swim and scoot and run and run and run. You can frequently be heard chirping "Harper's gonna getchooooo" as you run laps around the downstairs of the house, propelling yourself onto us. You have started to acquire the serious bumps, bruises and scratches that show you are a girl on the move. 

You are practicing being a big sister. Elmo needs frequent diaper changes daily, your babies need dressing and undressing, and Bruno needs to be bossed around to ensure he is following the house rules ("mama Bruno eating dinner! - Bruno bed" when he is under the table at mealtime despite knowing he should be elsewhere). 

You are testing and discovering boundaries. And then leaping over them. Shimmying up on the dining room bench by yourself without bumping your head? Check. Jumping from the ottoman to the couch into a puddle of giggles? Check. Climbing the stairs unassisted, while clutching Elmo and a baby? Check. Casually stepping off stairs while chatting and looking everywhere else but in front of you? Check. 

This fearlessness, combined with your intense determination, make you a force to be reckoned with. You are marching your way with purpose through life.  

This also means newly instituted "thinking time" at daycare and daily reminders that toys need to be shared and you can't bite or hit when things don't go your way. Patience is not my strong suit either, my girl. 

You love your people. All of them. Far, far too many to list here. You form bonds with your little friends that transcend the many miles and months that separate you from so many of them, and have formed memories that enable you to look at a photo across the room and exclaim "Dylan! Kip! Mags! Lukas! Jack! Rocco! Mason!" and so on. It's astounding. 

You make us laugh every single day. I wake up in the morning and cannot wait to see your face and hear the always different, always descriptive first words out of your mouth ("mama elephant over there, Harper got itchy, Harper need froggy lotion, Harper need waffles").

You have brought happiness to a new level. We love you so much.