I have a confession. It's a very naive and doom-inviting confession, but since I'm battling some blogger's block and have nothing else to talk about (unless you'd like to hear about the shield bugs currently infesting our home and just how many I've got trapped in the hand vac), I am going to say it anyway.
I like two. I like two a lot.
Granted, we're only a week and a half into two, and I know two has plenty of time to become truly terrible, but right now? Two is delightful. Charming. Hilarious. Fun.
(Hmm...is the sky looking a little...fally....perhaps?)
I can't help saying it. I'm blown away by how much fun Noah is these days. I don't know if it's because the sign language and speech improvements have catapulted us out of the realm of EH EH EH EH EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE tantrums and into hello, Mama, might I trouble you for some juice, and perhaps your assistance in getting my choo choo train out of the toilet? or just because of this HUGE explosion of personality, imagination and oh my God, this kid has my sense of humor. Everybody watch your bra straps.
I'm discovering that not only do I love him -- and there are still days when my skin positively hums with how much -- but I also really, really like him.
Sure, we have a lot of NO. We have SO MUCH NO. Surplus NO, shipped in by the truckload. (The way he says NO has even changed in the past couple weeks -- he says it with feeling now, as if he's offended by your very question.)
But we also have a sweet, sensitive and polite little guy, who blows kisses and knows the sign for love and still wants to cuddle and play with my hair. And then he wants to run around and laugh and squeal because when he's happy, he feels happiness with his entire body, from head to toe, and damn, he's one happy two-year-old.
Bring it on, two. Bring it on.