Two Years Old

This is my two-year-old. My toddler. My boy. After thirty-three months of referring to him as "the baby", it doesn't feel quite right anymore. And it's so hard to imagine that two years ago he was born with only a shadow of a personality and that that big baby from one year ago, who seemed to have all the chutzpa in the world at the time, would become this even funnier, smarter, more willful child. He has no fear; the world belongs to him and yet we are all still each others' because, while he doesn't need us as much as he used to, he still wants us. To save him, to help him, to hold him, to see the amazing thing that that he sees. We remind ourselves of this ephemeral gift all the time. We have to because there are so many distractions and so many moments when he is not as charming as he probably seems on the pages of this blog. He's a toddler, after all. And he hushes us sometimes. And screams sometimes. But most of the time he's running, swinging his arms along side him, and testing out new words and rolling toy cars and galloping toy horses across any surface he can find. And turning my face in his hands toward something exciting and running his fingers through my hair while I hold him. He was magical from day one, but he has become the most incredible boy and being with him is such a joy. And two years old is going to be spectacular.