A Stafford poem in the vein of this one

Yeah, I got some ink. You wanna make somethin’ of it?

You still make sucking sounds when you sleep.
I know this because you like sleeping the final 30 minutes in our bed.
You ride a red tricycle at L’s house.
You walk it sitting down instead of pedaling, and can go at quite a clip.
The school bus is “lellow.”
You pronounce “car” with a Yiddish “ch.”
You say “no” in the most polite way imaginable.
You still don’t have many words, but can hum “Twinkle Twinkle.”
You like to sit on the potty after using your diaper.
Then you pee a little more, which makes you laugh.
When you don’t get your way you flop down on your belly and freeze.
You love your play lawn mower and will push it all over the neighborhood.
At the playground there was a bridge that consisted of steps with space in between.
It is for older kids.
You crossed it while holding onto the sides, and alternatively, my hand.
At each step you guffawed with accomplishment.
You like putting on your sisters’ princess dresses.
You now consent to be reasoned with:
“We’ll read that book after we finish clipping your fingernails.”
You play a convincing game of “pretend” with your sisters.
However, you’re like that guy at the party who laughs at the joke
even though it’s clear you don’t get it.
Given the choice you would only eat dried fruit, and “shish”: Goldfish.
After eating cereal you tip the bowl to your mouth to drink the dregs.
You never spill any.
When the doorbell rings, you smile and scream,
because you know that all your best people walk through that door.