Dear Finn,

  Happy first, sweetheart! We've had an extended celebration for you: Cake and partying with friends big and small early on, and more cake and candles on the big day.

  You like cake. Staying up late to open presents ... not so much. Especially when your big brother immediately takes over the new toys.

  You started on the higher end of the weight chart but have now settled comfortably in your brother's petite footsteps. You just weighed in at 19 pounds, 2 ounces, in the 5th percentile. But you look heftier, and you eat amazing quantities. But then, you probably burn an amazing number of calories scrambling around the house. "Finny on the move!" exclaimed Calvin when you first started getting around on all fours. You are always, always chasing after Calvin. He is the most exciting thing in your world. He has a hard time letting you play with your toys, but you don't care, just so long as he lets you play in his whirling orbit.

  You're a perpetual motion machine yourself. Of course I noticed all the kicking when you were on the inside, but I didn't realize just how active you were going to be until you were born: You bruised your entire face in your haste to get out. Twelve months later, you rarely sit still. You're climbing on your parents, cruising all over the house, bouncing up and down with a toy, speed-crawling toward your goal. As soon as you started moving, you began to enjoy playgrounds. The first time I let you explore one, you discovered the slide: Love at first sight. You scrambled to it again and again and again.

  You play very well on your own, wandering around the house and happily busying yourself with toys and spice jars and the poor cat. Your favorite places are forbidden zones: You keep trying to crawl into the bathtub, embrace the water heater, and escape out open doors. You delight in hugging your parents, grabbing our hair and slobbering us with open-mouthed kisses. I'm amazed how confidently you tackle physical challenges, seeking out things to climb and pull and push and manipulate. I fretted that you'd struggle with stairs since we live in a one-story house. I shouldn't have worried: You sized up an impressively high staircase at a museum in November and easily hauled yourself to the top.

  Like Calvin, you're easygoing and quickly befriend nearly everyone you meet. We enjoy a lot of playdates with a mix of babies and preschoolers, and you love getting in on all the preschooler action. You wriggle out of my arms when we bring Calvin to preschool, eager to explore the room yourself, and squawk furiously when it's time to leave and I pry you off the giant abacus.

  You don't make a lot of demands: You don't want to nap in other kids' cribs, and you don't like any interruption in the flow of food heading to your mouth. We can deal with those. You express yourself pretty clearly for a pre-verbal kid. The words are starting to come -- we hear Mommy, Daddy, go and maybe all done (you use the sign for "all done" too, albeit very wildly). I thought we'd been silly about imagining real words in your babble, but then a friend who cared for you the other night thought you were trying to ask for a drink in Taiwanese. Hm. Mostly, though, you express your often-strong opinions with lots of squawking and arm-waving. And occasional biting. You know that's wrong. No matter how gently I remind you "no biting," you melt into tears as if I'd disowned you.

  But you bounce back quickly from setbacks both major and minor. "Resilient" is the word your dad suggested, and I think that's right. A bloody lip, a bump on the forehead, a shove from your brother, a toy snatched from your grasp: Most call for a brief cuddle, and then you pick up where you left off. Like Calvin, you find solace in your thumb and your blankie.

  It has been difficult sharing the scene with Calvin. He adores you, honest. We asked him recently if he'd like another brother or sister, and he said he'd like another brother -- another Finn, he specified, "because he's good." But Calvin doesn't like you stealing our attention. You've been very gracious about deferring to his demands, and in the past few months we've all done a better job of balancing everyone's interests. We were slow to establish a bedtime routine with you, but now it is one we all enjoy. "Mr. Brown Can Moo" is the first book you let us read aloud without your trying to eat it. After a handful of readings, you were turning pages and supplying the "knock knock" on the arm rest yourself.

  You are a champion peekaboo player. You start games during diaper changes with whatever you have on hand: your pants, your beloved ribbon blankie, or even just your arm flung across your eyes. You've also learned to give high-fives, and I think you might have tickled me the other day. You love to chase and be chased, to be tossed high into the air, to have someone blow raspberries on your stomach, to watch funny faces, to hear songs ... and to watch TV. Aside from football Sundays, you rarely see TV, but you find it mesmerizing. Your favorite toys are usually Calvin's, especially the Little Einsteins figures, toy cars, and the plastic sandwich rolls from his Subway play food set.

  It isn't always easy to be the second child -- I know from experience. With two children to care for, Daddy and I haven't been able to stop to coo and admire your every gurgle. Too many times you've had to wait until we resolved some pseudo-crisis of Calvin's before taking care of something you needed.

  On the other hand, you've enjoyed the benefits of more experienced parents and a constant playmate. And be assured: Daddy and I have delighted in every moment with you. I can't imagine our family without your goofy grin, your infectious giggle, your mischievous face. You have no idea how wonderful it is to open the door after naptime to find you bouncing in your crib, laughing with sheer happiness at the sight of someone who loves you. You reach up as I lift you out of your crib and snuggle against my cheek, then lean back to take in my face with the biggest smile in the world.

  And then Calvin runs into the room, you turn away from me to reach out to him, and it's as if someone suddenly turned the sun on.

  Thanks for sharing all that happiness with us.

Love,

Mommy