Year two has come and gone and you are more beautiful, funny, silly, frustrating, interesting, wonderful than ever.
Sometimes as I watch you play, I wonder if you'll remember any of this past year later in life. Will you remember that we moved to San Francisco in your second year? That the Golden Gate Bridge, SF Zoo, Golden Gate Park, playgrounds galore, were all in your very own backyard? That walking around the neighborhood meant stopping to talk to the stone sculptures of elephants and lions in front of all those expensive houses in the Seacliff, and how you were already quite bossy, telling Daddy, "go go Daddy! go go!"? How the number of people who came to love and know you grew exponentially as we did life with the people at Christ Church? That I gave you two haircuts, and still refuse to pay someone to cut your hair that grows faster than weeds?
There are so many things that you do now that you didn't do a year ago; some good and amazing, some not-so-good and still amazing. Recognizing letters, numbers, different Thomas trains, routes to your friends' homes (Geary street = Phineas's house, Great Highway = Dylan's house...), different animals and dinosaurs. And even though Daddy and I are pretty much the only ones who understand most of what you say, we think it's pretty awesome that we get to have conversations with you now, and we can't wait each morning to hear what you have to say.
And you think. We can see you think and process information, and we can also see you think and process what you want to say and how you want to say it. I know that it's not amazing that you think about things, but wow. I love your little-big brain and that you use it all the time.
Jonas, you're not a baby anymore. You're not Baby Jonas. Especially because in your third year, there will be a new baby around these parts. It's sad that you're not a baby anymore, but it's also exciting that you're now a boy, a real boy. (And we're glad that you're saying that you're a boy too, instead of saying you're a girl.) We thank God for the opportunity to watch you grow and learn, and hope that you'll learn to love Jesus and be interested in more than just the story of Moses and Jonah in the Bible (though, those are both excellent stories) and that you'll be kind and loving and smart and sweet and fun.
You're two, and you already have your first tuxedo. Not many two-year-olds can say that.
Get ready for some excellent ice cream tomorrow (after the not-so-excellent immunization shots) and get ready for a whole bunch of hugs and kisses. Like, a WHOLE bunch. All day. Non-stop. Just because I can and I know there will be a day when you won't let me.
We love you Jonas Boy.