Two years ago I lay awaiting your arrival. Arms outstretched and anxious. You are my last baby. The last one that would kick my lungs and my bladder. And I was oh so very ready to meet you.
I will never forget the moment you were born. The doctor allowing your proud dad to take all the pictures. And me, impatiently waiting for it all to be done. To meet you. To hold you. To not be pregnant anymore.
And here you are. The perfect mix of cuddling and sweet + crazy and wild boy. All since the very moment you were born. But I suppose you needed to be. You entered a home that was loud and busy. And going unnoticed was not an option. So you encompassed it all.
You did it well. You are sweet and rough. My littlest boy. Two meets you with oh so much fun to be had. More words to say. More teeth to use. And more energy, if that’s even possible.
You are wild and free. You are brave, even if it is when, perhaps you should be more cautious. You are caring. You love others, even when sometimes that love looks like throwing a toy at your brother’s head. But you are still learning how to love others well. You are still learning how to be brave without being foolish.
But you are learning.
And so am I. I am learning what it means to be a rough and tumble boy mom. I am learning what it means to be content in the dirt. I am learning to never own nice throw pillows because they will only be used as weapons or building materials.
And I love it all. Except the throw pillows part. I really love nice pillows.
Happy birthday my darling two year old. Thank you for sharing the adventures with me. And for shouting “Hi Mama” through them all.
I simply cannot believe my littlest has officially entered the toddler years. I suppose I can no longer call him ‘Baby Boy.’ Do you have a suggestion for my littlest’s ‘blog name?’ If you do, I would love for you to share it in the comments!