No one ever told us how steep the learning curve is from age 2 to 3. A little warning would have been nice. Or maybe not. What a beautiful and refreshing surprise to ruin. The ride along this year's learning curve with you was straight up, way up and fast. And it was downright incredible. The two year old in you, Esme, has had me wishing that forever there would be toddler feet pattering the floors of our home and that the sound of your mispronounced words would always come from your nubby little body whose head barely reaches my waist. I loved age two. And I adore you. It's bittersweet this growing up thing you've chosen to do, and a part of my heart was truly sad to see this formative year of your life side right past your Daddy and I.
How old are you?
"Two", you'd say with two fingers extended.
And how old are you going to be?
"Free", you'd answer with a twinkle in your beautiful brown eyes and three fingers extended.
When is your birthday?
"July twenty", spoken with the sweetest emphasis on the u. "I'm having an Under the Sea party!"
On the day you turned three, I felt the need to photograph your every detail just as it was, right then and there. Somewhere among you are last remnants of baby and I'm still desperately trying to capture the last of it all before it all fades away. Your silky hair, your eyelashes, your shiny nose and cheeks, your fingers, your little legs and feet. But you denied my camera on the morning of your birthday and played shy. That's ok. I like this side of Esme, too. It's very you.