Dear Fifi, Fifi. Feenie. Feenster. Trouble. Capital T.

You, my third child my baby forever, melt my heart. I could end the letter right here. Wipe my hands clean of what I want to say and call it a day, "Happy 2nd birthday." But alas, I have so much on my mind this night and I want to say it all to you. I could never live without you.

I started this blog when you were only weeks old to document our journey as a family and the first post that made me cry out loud, as I typed it, was on your first birthday.

Because. I am so in love. I have the time to loose myself in your laughter, your cuddles, and your scent. The other two were born close together and as a new mother I frantically made sure they were taken care off, well fed, and well manicured. With you it's a little different... all I have is time. Time to appreciate.

Yesterday, on the last full day as a one-year-old, you slept for over 13 hours and of course I ran to your room to check if you were alive. I stood above your crib watching your chest gently fill up with air, your pacifier still in place, and your blond wisps perfectly laying across your "Lalala" (princess) pillow. I watched you sleep for awhile before sweeping you into my arms, half asleep, and carried you to my bed. We were alone in our PJs for 65 minutes together again. I drew back your hair, lingered in your neck while caressing your feet, and together we sang Happy Birthday out loud. And in bed I called my best friend, whom just had her first child the day before, to see how she was doing and that is when I lost it. I held onto your chubby foot and cried out loud as it was my turn to be the wild banshee.

YOU are my baby, my last, the third child that I always dreamed of having. You complete us as a family. I will never have another baby.

Sweet little Feenster, when you are in college, when the phone rings and when you hear "">youtube and request it every night (that CD was the first 2nd birthday present you received from the infamous childless but brilliant Uncle Mike). You have recently discovered Play-Doh and I often find dried out pieces in my Louis Vuitton tote. You ask me twice a day "wanna paint" and point to the craft box full of brushes and jars. You rely much to heavily on your pacifier and smatka (lovely) and daddy is worried about the overbite you have developed from the countless times I have inserted it into keep you, my wild banshee, quiet. You love to jump and every strip mall we pass by you scream for "jump-jump" school, mommy-and-me gym class. Your breath is so incredibly stinky in the morning since you still demand a bottle of milk after brushing your teeth at night and we give in. I, very honestly, look forward to your breath every morning and smile. Every night before we go to bed, you lay sandwiched between your brother and sister as we read books, waiting for the time we say our prayers when you jump up and say "Amen" and we all giggle. I carry you from Jay's room to Lola's room, in my arms, as we sing "Goodnight Jay. Goodnight Lola. Goodnight siblings. Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight." When we finally reach Daddy, you pop up in my arms and kiss Daddy goodnight right after you gently caress his chest while saying, "Nice. Nice, Daddy. Nice?" And I look into your eyes and reply, "Yes. Nice." And smother you with kisses for the one hundredth time that day.

Happy 2nd birthday Feenie, with a capital T.