In two months he will be two. Correction, in LESS than two months he will be two. That child up there is no longer a baby, no matter how many times I call him one. He is a boy. He is the fearless daredevil sort of boy who takes great joy in giving his mother gray hairs and mini heart attacks. He is the boy who fights for independence at every turn but comes running to his mama for comfort when that independence results in a skinned knee or bumped head.
He is the boy with no words but an uncanny ability to express exactly what he's thinking, particularly when what he is thinking is that his parents aren't meeting his immediate needs. He has perfected the kind of temper tantrum that causes strangers to turn and give that disdainful look that says, "Clearly his parents don't discipline him!". And oh how he loves to shriek like he's being burned at the stake when his mama *dares* to put him in his carseat.
But he's also the boy with the giggle that can warm even the coldest heart. He's the boy who will smile at strangers until they look at him and then he plays bashful. He is the boy who will catch his mama's eye in the rearview mirror and start a game of peek a boo that probably counts as distracted driving in the eyes of the law. He is the boy who runs from wherever he might be when he hears the sound of the garage door opening at about 3:45 so that he can be waiting at the top of the stairs when Daddy gets home. He is the boy who *loves* looking at pictures on Facebook and loves to be carried around the house so he can point out all the pictures of family and friends.
We are a lucky little family of three. Even when we are sleep deprived. Or grumpy about cold weather AGAIN. Even when we wish we were more than three, we are still lucky.