You are now at the age adults refer to when calling someone (of any age) out for irrational behavior. “Stop acting like a two-year-old!” or “You’re acting like a two-year-old!”
While your strong-willed tantrums give me a front row seat to the two-year-old stereotype, there is a whole, vibrant person starting to emerge from your tiny body that makes this age – like every age so far – one I never want to forget.
The other day I saw a shirt with a smirking condiment bottle on it that read: Bet you can’t ketchup!
That shirt defines you at two; one step ahead of us and always traveling at top speed.
I will never forget you running down the cul-de-sac, leading the flying v of five older neighborhood kids chasing after you; your top knot bouncing in the wind.
Your toes are always dressed with a Finding Nemo bandaid and your knees scraped up or bruised, which makes me proud. It tells me you’re living.
We tried to keep you contained in your crib by putting you into a large sleep sack, but somehow you still found a way to fling yourself out like a gymnast on the pommel horse.
While I love how active you are, I don’t love that we’ve now lost two out of your three perfect leg rolls. You are becoming less and less of a baby everyday.
When you were first born and babbling nonsense, I remember wondering what your voice would sound like and what you had to say. Now that you’ve discovered some words, it’s as entertaining as I could have imagined.
I hope I never forget the cheeky way you say, “Oh my goodness gracious, that’s insane!”. I love that you confidently say, “Sooooo cute!” every time you get dressed in the morning. And your sweet I love you mama’s make you easy to forgive; even when I’m on the brink of quitting motherhood.
You ride the highs and lows of every day with reckless abandon, vulnerable to the present moment.
Before becoming a mom, if someone had told me that their two-year-old was compassionate, I probably would have rolled my eyes in disbelief. Now I’m that mom because you are truly bursting with empathy and compassion, always making sure that everyone around you is okay.
So today, I say act like a two-year-old. Dig your hands into the sand, run around naked, drink the hose water and eat all the “popcorns” you can. You’re only here for another year, and then onto three. Might as well make the most of it!
I love you more than you’ll ever know.