2 years

I have a loving, smart, funny 2-year-old.

2-year-old.

Which means that somehow two years have passed since my kid came into this world.


He loves to read. In fact, he loves it so much that we had to make it a rule to only read him a book one time each day. Otherwise, we’d spend all day reading Little Blue Truck and Corduroy while the other books on his shelf went unread. It seems like a good time to learn that favorites are good but so is variety.

He loves peas, fruit of all kinds, pickles, deli meat and anything sweet. Actually, there are very few things he doesn’t like once we bribe him (often with peas) into trying them.

He likes puzzles, trains, dinosaurs, balls, putting things in, taking things out, cutting the pickle (the other day he made a joke out of “cutting” an actual pickle and then tickling himself; Greg and I laughed hysterically), hopping, dancing and playing with his 70 pound pup-pup. His teddy bear Blue is his constant companion, although Cat is frequently not far away. His big boy bed is covered with his babies, and he tells us when, “shh!” they are sleeping.

More than anything, he loves spending time with his family. His grandparents are four of his favorite people. His aunts (real and fictive) and uncles make him happy. His daddy hung the moon, and I am usually his constant safe place.

Two years ago this little boy changed my world and gave me a new job title. I am excited to see him in his upcoming role as big brother; he’ll be great.

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