The weekend got off to a rocky start, what with Bennett claiming to have hypnotized himself on the computer and falling through a living room window. But we reconfigured, focusing on Sid, who turned two today.
Even if you hate to bake, you pull it together when your baby turns two:

We may have no photographic evidence of her infancy, and only a smattering of videos of her toddlerhood, but the Kid got a maple cake for breakfast. (Consequently, our eldest, of whom there are volumes of photographs, not to mention the small film festival we have of his early life, will likely be getting a loaf of store-bought pound cake with a match stuck in it.)
And here I am on new ground: a birthday for a two year old at which I am neither bursting with pregnancy, nor holding an infant with one arm while I dole out slices of cake. It feels absolutely right but at the same time, even after this long weekend, M and I collapsed into bed last night feeling wistful.
Francie made a beautiful banner, Efram wrote a heartfelt card (“you were so tiny when I met you.”), and Bennett got busy with a hot glue gun and 14 gallons of paint and made her a picture frame that should be dry by 2015.
Happy birthday Sidney.