Dear Merritt,

When we tried to explain that you're two and showed you two fingers and then asked if you could say two, you looked at us quizzically and then pointed to your bottom and said, "toot." And there you have it. Just like that, you're toot.

Occasionally, you can't decide if you "tooted" or if you "pooted." I know this because you'll let one go and then announce "TOOT," then question yourself and say "POOT?" You're marrying toot and poop there and I like it. It's like the Rated G version of "shart," and I appreciate that about you. The way you politely follow gas by mass. Also, the way you sometimes don't say either of those words, but instead, "BUBBLES!" because I imagine that's what it feels like to you, and you never leave us wanting in the commentary department.

You're not nearly as polite when it comes to talking about your shirt, as you have completely dropped the "r" from that word. And birthed a new slogan around here: "Shirt Happens."

Some major shirt happened for your birthday. I probably broke several copyright laws, but I embroidered Elmo on one shirt and Cookie Monster on another. And if they're not destroyed by Christmas (and I can get them off your body), I may just rewrap them and gift them to you again. You like them that much.

For some reason this makes me wonder at what point Future Merritt will be reading this. And what you'll think of "toot" year old you, and your fascination with "Elmos." You're currently going through a couple of phases. One involves making all words plural. The other involves cannibalism. I digress. Future Merritt, please don't hate us for indulging you in your Sesame Street obsession. Or your proclivity to publicly mimic all sirens and wind chimes you hear. Or for buying you a tea set for Christmas because you so enjoyed playing tea party on your birthday.

Currently you exercise what Mommy and I refer to as The Second Location Scream. Your squeals, delighted or otherwise, most often sound like you're being abducted and your shanghaier is attempting to get you to a second location. I wish I could tell you this is something other than unsettling.

More pleasantly, you are fascinated by your shadow and spend several focused minutes at a time repeating "Hello, shadow," and "Bye-bye, shadow." You are especially impressed when I bring out the flashlight and perform (really bad) hand puppet shows during dinner. I am in possession of only one shadow puppet which I refer to as "the lame duck" because it is literally a lame duck. You're most thrilled by shadows cast by others. Your reaction to other people (and inanimate objects) having shadows is not unlike your reaction to other people wearing shoes. Pretty much the most amazing thing ever.

Here's what you know about yourself at age toot:

You know you're Merritt. You point to yourself and nine times out of ten you announce your name. That other one time is split between your two teams. So one of ten times you are either a Los Angeles Dodger or a member of the Red Sox Nation. You know this makes your mother proud. You know you'll stop whatever you're doing for the opportunity to do my hair. You know you love "humps," or pumpkins, as us weird folk call them. You know you love hiding. You know the answers. All of them. To every question. And you shout them out with the same conviction (and inaccuracy) as I did in my college Spanish class. One time I translated that Pelé eats babies for sport. That's beside the point. You know you're loved.

One of the many quotable lines from the 2003 mockumentary, A Mighty Wind, is "Wha' Happened?" At some point in the last month you started saying this line, much to our delight. It is adorable and endearing and totally Merritt.

Recently I was thinking about posing that same question to you. We were sitting in an airport terminal and there you were, speaking English, pointing out all the "airbaits" and "hucks" (airplanes and trucks), being cordial and engaging with the other passengers at the gate, sharing a snack and napkins and stories with me. And I thought, WHA' HAPPENED? Where did my baby go?

We boarded the plane and, my goodness, you were excited and animated. You'd get buckled and then unbuckle. You knelt on your seat and looked out the window. You announced "airbait" 65,000 times. And then, just before take-off and without any urging from me, you crawled into my lap and laid your head on the exposed skin of my chest, and fell asleep hard and fast, not stirring until after landing. And all during that flight, I didn't wonder "wha' happened?" Instead, I gazed at you, this full-sized toddler cradled in my arms, and I wiped my tears from your forehead and cheeks, while you reminded me that you'll always be my baby.

Love,
Momma (& Mommy)