My sweet Elias,

Today, you are two. It feels like you went to sleep as my last baby and woke up as a little boy. I can’t believe it has already been two years, but don’t all parents say that? (Probably because it’s true.)

Last night, Finn, Mommy, and I all had to take turns holding the back of your t-shirt collar so that you wouldn’t run into the street, head turned slightly back toward us, just enough for us to see your devlish smile–an expression with which we’ve become quite familiar. (You should know: your brother is always trying to save you.)

You keep us on our toes, Elias. I’ve never met a kid so hard to keep alive but so easy to love. You are daring and brave and endlessly silly, but you are also affectionate and kind and care-free in the best possible ways. After you’ve done something impossibly dangerous–like jump head-first off of the couch or sneak out of the back door–your mommy and I will just look at each other, shake our heads, and ask “What are we going to do with this one?”

But we also tell each other, “I would have another baby in a second if I knew for sure they would be like Elias.”

You charm everyone who meets you, Elias. You are all fun, all of the time. You’re hardly ever cranky, really never have tantrums (though, I know they are likely coming), and you always go with the flow. You love to be the life of the party.

The running joke in the family is that, one day, you’ll be everyone’s favorite college buddy–the guy who everyone goes to for a laugh, and the one who will be on YouTube, standing at the edge of some rooftop, half-naked, doing something that personifies the phrase, “Hold my beer!”

You are all joy and sunshine and dimples. From the second you wake up, waiting patiently in your crib, singing and playing, for as long as we leave you there, you are happy.

You, like most little boys, idolize your big brother, following him around, feigning pain if he gets hurts, stealing all of his favorite toys. You ask to go “night night” and love to sleep. You prefer Zoe and Abby over Big Bird and Grover. You love Elmo, but never watch Elmo. Your current favorite trick is to pretend you are choking, after which you laugh. You are memorized by music; love “snacks”; would live on fruit; have an impressively expansive vocabulary for a newly-minted 2-year-old; can share clothes with Finn, who is almost 5; skip and hop more than you walk; are impossibly clumsy, but rarely fuss about taking a topple; adore books; say “Oh, shit” at all the appropriate moments; refuse to wear your shoes outside; don’t bother even saying goodbye to us at school each morning, though your brother always tries to give you a goodbye hug from behind; love making messes and love cleaning them up; want to go on the “po-ch” constantly; never turn down a walk; are always singing (“Wheels on the Bus,” “Clean Up, Clean Up,” “Hello, Hello,” and the ABCs are current faves); and are known in the neighborhood as “that boy who walks around in boots and a diaper.”

You are so unlike everyone else in our little family, the rest of us who tend to be anxious and overly emotional and introverted. But not you! You are our little light–the one who keeps all of us laughing, even when things get dark.

We love you endlessly, Elias Lake, and we are so happy you’re ours. Happy birthday!