Two For Pete’s Sake

Dear RR,

Being two is apparently a lot like being a drunken despot who snores loudly and trims his nose hair over supper.  I know this is true because I caught sight of the memo you recently received regarding appropriate behavior for the week.  You had, of course, burned one corner of it, made spitballs of the inside address and practiced your name in cursive all over the content.  There were several directions I was able to read through the ornate curlicues –

  1. Try to…smack…possible.
  2. Feet.
  3. …loudly…
  4. Frequently tell your mothers they are un… and …wanted
  5. …poop…
  6. Hahahahahahahaha

I’m pretty sure this explains everything.  I reassure myself that once you’ve mastered killer cute, there’s really no place else to go but Mordor.

Love is a tricky thing though, isn’t it?  I go to sleep at night wondering whether or not I’ll be able to face you in the morning, and watch as you drizzle yogurt all over your arms and demand that I kiss multiple fictional owies through the muck but then I wake up to the sound of you maniacally jumping in your crib yelling JUMPING MAMAS JUMPING and smile all over again.  Every slight lately, and there are many, is made up for twofold by stacks of adorable.

The times you scream at me when I wash your hair EYEEEEEESSSS.
The times you shove me hard so that you can sit with D that much longer.
The times your eyes sparkle just before you bring your hand up to whack me on the nose.

I have you to thank for ninja like reflexes and an ever toughening skin.  It’s a good thing we have an 8 hour break during the day.  It gives me a chance to think about how much I love you before I get home and find you sharpening your switchblade and smoking a cigarette.  Cutely.

Advertisements

One Response

  1. nice. love it.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: