Phoenix, at big bro Cole's birthday, last week
This is it, friends.
This is the last day of a two year old in the house.
And with the way he is acting? I don't know whether to celebrate
his oh-so-over-the-top-two-ness, or quake in my boots at the thought of what three will bring.
His every sentence begins with a negative: I don't want...
-to go potty
-to be in my bed
-to brush my teeth
-to be buckled in
While I hold him, as he forcibly insists, he tells me go away Mom, 'er not bein' nice.
I respond that he can get down anytime he wants. He answers I NOT gettin' down.
We have to laugh.
He is so conflicted and so TWO.
He is all wild boy and baby for one last day, and then the baby word is retired. Glaring eyes tell me so: I not a baby, Mom. Giggly boy tells me so: I 'er baby, Mom!
He teases me with promises of a smooch, and runs away hooting.
He stands by Daddy's desk and rules like a tyrant: Get on the floor. Get on the floor. Get on the floor! His Daddy tells him he has to wait a bit. Waiting is not in his lexicon: Get on the floor now, Dad!
Daddy always gets on the floor. He remembers all too well how quickly the sweet days fly, how short the baby times really are. He soaks it in and tells me to ease up.
'Er my best friend ever Mom and Dad... 'Er my best friend ever Cole...'Er my best friend ever Jadey...'Er my best friend ever Belly... He thrives on being the center, the hinge on which we swing.
Even now, the fresh bath smell lasts mere minutes. It is quickly replaced by the I Am Boy fragrance of sweaty playful child, and whatever the last meal happened to be.
The Days of Two - we love 'em and long to leave 'em. Just for a minute.
That about sums it up.
I love these shots: Hi Mom... oh! Is that my fist? Right there? Oh, it is so enthralling... oh fist, my fist, how I love thee. How I love the way you move all around, teasing me...
'Er my best friend too, my best little bud...