Two is just around the corner.

Time flies. My baby now calls herself a "teeny tiny girl." She walks and talks and demands. She plays and "reads" books. She sings and dances. She chooses her own clothes, mainly dresses. She can put on her own shoes and pull on her own zapetas. She can identify the doctor's office and the credit union when we pass by in the car ("the doctor girl's house" and the kangaroo's house). When she wants to go somewhere she says "Take my hand." On her tippy toes, she's tall enough to reach the lower mail slot at the post office and loves to push the mail in. She has imaginary friends, still The Boy, plus some random others that she talks to occasionally. She can buckle herself into her stroller and she does, when I'm in a hurry and I just throw her in. She loves to go to the store, any store and she makes up names for stores she wants to go to (The Dancing Store!). She continues to look more and more like a kid and less and less like a baby. She makes jokes. She's bossy. She's lovey. She loves hair and clothes and zapatos.

It makes me happy, my baby being so healthy and smart and beautiful. It makes me sad that she's headed away from being a baby.

My baby is turning two in a little more than two weeks. We'll have a quiet "Happy Birthday to You" at Nana's house on the actual day, then a bigger, more hectic "Happy Birthday to You" at the park the following weekend. Bubble-themed. And then it's goodbye to One.