Today you are twenty five months old.

For the last month it has been so nice to just say 2! when someone asks how old you are. I will probably continue to just say 2! when anyone asks, because most people don't know the difference between 2! and 25 months old, but I do.

This month I finally admitted to something I'd known for a while: I am pregnant. We have told you and when I ask where the baby is you point to my belly button. And then lower, to just about the right spot. We have another seven months to prepare your young mind for the huge shift that will take place, but it's already begun, in slow and small ways.

Before I was pregnant I thought that when this day came I would have to preform some sort of love calculus and take away from what I feel for you and reserve it for your sibling. But as it turns out, thankfully, this is so far from the truth.

Knowing I am pregnant has allowed my heart to grow, to expand and include someone new, yes, but to expand and make that much more room for you. I never thought it was possible that I could love you more than I already did, but I do. I love you more.

The more I think about how it will be to have a baby in the house again the more I realize how much I adore the baby you are, two years later. You are incredible. You are brilliant. You are fun. You were always this way, but now I've known you for two years and it's so nice to know you.

I used to tell you that you are my favorite baby because there was no other baby, but now I can't really say that anymore. Out loud. Paloma, in a way, you will always be my favorite baby because you are the first baby. You taught me how to be pregnant and give birth and breastfeed and teethe and parent and be patient and be strong and be your mother. And for that, I will be ever grateful, and for that, you will always be my favorite first baby.

Happy Twenty Fifth Monthday.