You've left "being a baby" in the dust, kid. You are officially "a kid." And I know this because when you see little babies, you tilt your head to one side and coo at them. "Ooooh, baby!!" Like you know they're something different from what you are, which is "giant kid with fluffy ponytail."
I thought I'd miss "Baby Bird," but I am so in love with this "Big Bird." (Sidenote: You call Big Bird on Sesame Street "Bob." So when you see Big Bird, you gesture casually with your hand to greet him. "Hey, Bob." I don't have the heart to correct you, because I'm too busy laughing.) Now that you're more verbal, I finally get to spy on what's going on in your head.
You can tell us what you want for breakfast. "Faffles? Milk? Booberries?" (Translation: Waffles, milk, and blueberries.) You fill us in on where you'd like to go. "Jacket? Car? Aunties house?" You are vocal about what you'd like to wear. "Elmo shirt? Pants? Socks? Black shoes, Mama?"
Opinions, kid: you have them.
This past month, we've has some really crummy firsts. Like your first rotten, snarfling cold, complete with horrible moments of foraging in your nose for rogue boogers. (My worst nightmare.) And your first molars, followed by the rest of your molars and a few other teeth thrown in just to make your week suck more. And then we had Pukefest 2012, where you had your first true plague, your first visit to the emergency room, and your first 72 hours spent laying on the couch. I know these firsts were coming, regardless, but I'm so sorry you had to deal with them all in the same month. It's been a rough go.
But you've bounced back. You're back to your sunny, lovely self, wearing your boots and your cupcake pajamas and back on the horse. Literally. (I just wish you wouldn't text while trotting.)
Musically, you're all over the map, singing along with Coldplay, Noel Gallagher, the Elmo's World theme song, Beastie Boys, and some Radiohead. Watching you bop along to the music makes me so happy, because you've thankfully inherited your dad's rhythm - mama has none to spare. Your favorite books are the Richard Scarry ones, and you love pointing out all the nouns you know. (You just don't know what a "noun" is, just yet. But the worm driving the apple makes you giggle, which warms my heart.) You also are a mini-practical joker, Birdface. Like when I went into the bathroom one morning last week and saw this doll staring back at me, all creepy. Not cool, kid. Mommy doesn't like creepy dolls. Stop scaring Mommy.
My love for you grows every single day (even on the days when "No!" is the most used word in your growing vocabulary). Your smile makes my world bigger, my big Bird.
Keep doing what you're doing.