This was Beatrix’s birthday cake, which violated every snobby and pretentious cell in my body. I made it myself.

When I asked her what kind of birthday cake she wanted, she answered with a list that made my eyes cross and my veins run dry: Dora, The Disney Princesses, everyone from Sesame Street, the cast of Yo Gabba Gabba. Plus?

It had to be chockit cake.

Yes, she is a very self-aware toddler who watches too much TV, but also has five older siblings to teach her about these creatures. And Cinderella is certainly a creature. She’s seen her personal dream team in books, on plastic cups, in the bedrooms and in the playroom. Flip over any Little Golden Book and you’ll see Mickey Mouse cavorting right next to the Poky Little Puppy, Tootle, a counting kitten, Ernie, and Bugs Bunny. Oh, to be the lawyer who worked out the licensing agreements for that art project…

When you are the youngest of six, there is no waiting period before being clobbered by Characters. At a week old, she had an armload of Thomas and Friends paraded in front of her face, with commentary and the complete history of the island of Sodor all narrated by Tommy. According to the boys, Gordon was her favorite. It was clear by the way she hiccuped as he passed. I never pegged her for a Gordonite, though. He is brusque and a bit crusty. She is more like sweet Percy.

Aidan’s room is still haunted by stray Princesses. Sleeping Beauty perches on top of her digital alarm clock. Beatrix noticed. She loved. She learned the word “Princess!” and now appreciates ball gowns more than Scarlett O’Hara.

Because I wanted to grant her wish, I found cake toppers for most of the characters. They cluttered the top of the chocolate cake just enough to hide my inept lettering. I couldn’t find Yo Gabba Gabba characters, so I settled for buying her the stuffed representations and gave them to her as a separate gift. Otherwise?

Everybody showed up to party on her cake. They didn’t necessarily match. The scale was all wrong. Dora towered above Big Bird, and the diminutive Princesses got a little lost.

But she loved it.

Dear Two-Year-Olds of the World:

Thanks for giving Beatrix a warm welcome into your very exclusive club, which she joined today. Her membership card isn’t bent or sticky. Yet.

Most of you are potty-curious picky-eaters. She’ll fit right in. If you aren’t a potty-curious picky-eater, your mama is worried AND smug (as opposed to smug and worried). You are completely normal, too. You cheeky bunnies like to keep us guessing, but we know that is part of the adventure of parenting you.

You either revel in bathtime or you panic at the thought of shampoo…and rinsing. Oh, rinsing! I understand. I’ve had other two year olds and they shrieked so much during baths, I worried a neighbor would call the police. Beatrix currently enjoys all-things agua, so if you are into turning on the outside faucet and trying to drink from the hose, she’ll be your partner in crime.

A word of caution: Please don’t push or shove. No biting. I know sometimes you don’t think you have an alternative. You do. You’ll learn. You might not want to share that divine little car/wooden cupcake/old cellphone/naked wild-haired doll with her or anyone else in the universe. At least you are honest. I don’t want to share sometimes, either. That’s a secret. But it’s nice and important to get used to the idea. You’ll get there. I’m not one for forced sharing, so I’ll just show you how I share and how happy we are when everyone gets a whirl at the xylophone. How did you find the xylophone, by the way? I thought I hid it.

You are a fearless bunch, but still like to run and hug mommy and daddy’s legs. You don’t always look up to make sure the legs actually belong to mommy or daddy. From your vantage, the world looks like a sea of denim-covered tree trunks sometimes.

It has to be hard to be so small, but have such big ideas.

That’s why we love you so much, two-year-olds. There is nothing terrible about you.

Nothing.

(aside to birth story junkies…beatrix’s is here)