I have an almost three year old now.
He’s amazing. Like, really funny and goofy and we made cupcakes tonight and he poured juice for both of us to drink with our snacks and he giggled at the dog and accused her of wanting his cupcake (smart kid) and was distressed when the icing hit his shirt… he is the personification of a run-on sentence. When he was done sucking back a metric tonne of sugar, he hugged me hard for no reason, kissed my cheek and ran off to play trains.
He’s not perfect by any means. I mean, he’s TWO and working on being the poster child for that age. He’s stubborn and independently strong willed and he stamps his foot and yells “NO” and has to do everything himself which often drives him to frustrated tears and tantrums and why does he need to get into my brightest lip gloss but when he wakes me up at 3am to tell me that he was dreaming about daddy’s truck or bugs or our dog, I want to hold him tight and remember the moment. I want to smell it, taste it, document it in every form because it feels so right, even when I’m thinking “for the love of all that’s holy, GO TO SLEEP”.
This little body snuggled into mine.
This little boy that I longed to meet.
This little person that makes my heart sing.
P.S. Today I added the Category of “motherhood” to this blog. And then, I cried. Some wounds never seem to completely heal.