As cute as you can be.

The highlight of my day today was making us cocoa. I took out the good chocolate and blended it with some hot organic milk, then topped it with homemade whipped cream. You always worry that it is going to be too hot. After four big burns, you are super cautious of hot things. It's not hot, it's perfect. And then you take a sip, pulling back with a whipped cream mustache.

Sold.

You insist on your own cup, or tup, as you call it. And of course you'll need a boom to stir the chocolate. And then you'll spill a little here and make a mesh. And say ohhhh noooo repeatedly until I hand you a nacken to clean it all up.

I love your little words. I especially love your terms of endearment toward the things you love. We nicknamed your pacifier shnoot, some distant derivative of the Icelandic translation. You call it a moot (rhymes with foot). And when it has been gone from you for too long, you put your hands out, palms up, look at me and say moot-E-moot? Moot-E?

I don't want to forget this. I want to engrave it in my heart. I want to lock it in a vault and pull it out again when you're a teenager, blaring insane futuristic music in your room and shouting who-knows-what-futuristic-slang.

I don't want to forget the little you. You are growing big every day. And sometimes I want to squash you like play-doh into the size you were yesterday. You will always be my baby. Forever my Jack Jack.