My baby is very … two. Well, actually, he’s almost three by now, but oh, the twos!
He is confident. Strong-willed. Passionate. and Just.
He LIVES in capital letters, throwing his whole heart, mind, and soul into every activity — and typically random body parts as well.
He greets the morning with gusto, proclaiming, “DAYLIGHT!” to wake the rest of us up to greet the dawn.
He eats breakfast as if he’d been fasting for days, not hours, with “second breakfast” and “elevenses” put away well before 9 a.m.
He plays passionately, creating little firehouse dramas, noodling over the sounds of the ambulance, and calling in the helicopters whenever “PEOPLE HURT!”
He loves his brother with all that he is, throwing himself at our five-year-old and asking for a ‘nuggle, or twisting his brother’s hair absentmindedly, or racing him up or down or around the house, with a jubilent “ME FIRST!” as they race into the kitchen.
He exercises his body — and our patience — with constant requests of “PLAY SOCCER?” and “CATCH BALL?” and “PRETEND BALL?” For he is so athletic at this age that he will happily batter up and hit imaginary baseballs for ten or twenty minutes at a time, if that’s all he’s allowed in places like waiting rooms and Grammy’s house.
He throws himself on the bench at lunch, clambering up to eat his sandwich (no crusts), or turkey (no bread), or pasta (no sauce), or chicken (YES, PLEASE!).
He protests that he needs NO NAP, MOMMY!, but happily climbs in bed anyway for a ‘nuggle and a story.
He insists on reading about tonka trucks and tough guy stuff, but then loves to hear adventure stories about the hobbit that mama and daddy read at night. Or the quiet stories about the little rabbit and his mama. Or the history stories, perhaps about the first Americans and how they learned to make do with what they could find, plant, or make.
He snuggles into my shoulder and sleeps like an angel.
And often, he puts me to sleep as well.
For he is gentle, my wild little boy.
He is quick to pat a shoulder or give a hug to comfort Brother over a skinned knee, insistent on MAMA when he bumps his head, and always, always at my side, ready for a quiet hug or a declaration like he made this morning, putting his hand on my arm, looking into my eyes, and saying, “MINE. [FOR]EVER.”
My Little Bear is turning three soon, and I know that I will miss these twos.