I can't believe that you are two now. I'm really going to try my best to no longer call you "Baby John". I can see you growing each day before my eyes into a little boy. You love all things ball. Anything that resembles a ball in the slightest must be thrown and thrown again. You love to sing, especially in the car. I don't quite understand what you are saying yet, but I can recognize the tune most of the time. And you love to imitate everything that your older sisters and brother do. If they run, you run. If they jump off the stairs, you jump. If they sneeze, well, you try to sneeze, too.
I love the boy that you are becoming. I love your energy and the spark in your eye (reminds me of your dad). I love your kisses and hugs that you give so generously. I love it that I never know how it is that you acquire your bumps and bruises- you are a tough guy. I love you John Lemuel Bird. Happy Birthday, son.
The only way we could get John to blow out the candle was to sing his favorite song.