Today you are twenty seven months old.

Today is also Father's Day this year, and I am not your father. I could not be your father. Fathers are a unique bunch, with all sorts of skills and traits that no mother could ever duplicate.

I am your mother. And I am very good at that.

But as much as you need a mother, you also need a father. Your papa provides something that I cannot; he is my parenting opposite. That's not to say that you can run to him for a yes when I've said no, but, rather, he is the curve to my straight.

You fall apart with me, you curl up in my lap, fold up my skirt around you, you are a baby with me. With him you are a ham, you are wild, you take risks, you explore and dance and sing.

I didn't grow up with my father. He left right around now, at your age. I look at you and I cannot imagine how any father could leave a child your age. You are brilliant, you are a light.

You are a bright star in your papa's sky.

Happy Twenty Seventh Monthday.