Two Years Old

He wakes up with a smile on his face, jumping into my arms and immediately asking where Charles and daddy are.  “Darahs?  Dada?”

 

He has so many words, as long as you can decipher his speech.

 

 

He climbs.  Everything.  He jumps off of the back of the couch (strictly forbidden, but he does it anyway, and damn the consequences), he climbs up the stools onto the counter (also forbidden), he gets into his brother’s bed and his own bed unassisted, and he inspires gasps and shocked looks from other mothers at the playground.  “Who’s child is that?” I’ve often heard ask.  “Mine,” I reply.  “He’s fine.”  And he is.  He can climb up and over the playground equipment better than most four-year-olds, his brother included.

 

 

 

He’s so active.  Just like Charles.  He runs and tries to jump and splashes and throws things and plays really hard, all the time.  Everything is a funny, funny game to this kid.

 

 

He has a temper.  Jamie likes to get his way, and gets very upset when he doesn’t.  For instance, when I tell him one popsicle is enough before dinner.  Kid loves popsicles.

 

 

He’s awesome.  And he’s ours.  And I am forever grateful.