Today you are thirty five months old.

I'm quickly drafting this letter to you while you and your papa are at the park. If it weren't for the modern computer, I would have completely forgotten to write this letter. This month flew by, and I sort of recall this same feeling last year as we reached the end of your second year. It feels much like falling down a muddy hillside, grasping at the dirt, only to come away with a handfuls of grass and weeds and a mud-stained bum, but at least there's cake and candles when you hit to bottom.

Next month you will be three and I cannot believe how old that sounds. I think it might be the fact that you'll start school next year, the first year of so many more to come, and that's such a huge step. Or the fact that three is printed on just about every toy label, as in "Three and Up," as in there are so many toys you can legally play with without killing yourself on accident when you're three.

Three is big.

This month you have shown your sister so much love and affection. You've always asked where she is when I enter the room without her, but now you check on her, help me put her down in her crib, give her kisses, and say goodbye when you leave. I don't expect you to love and adore your sister, but I would be pleased if you did - if you found her as lovely as I do, and so far, she's your biggest fan, which isn't surprising given all that you can do and all that you are.

Happy Thirty Fifth Monthday.