So, in addition to my gig as mom to a 6-year-old, 4-year-old, and a newborn, I have a 2-year-old son.
Usually, when people find out that my son is two, I get the typical sympathetic head shake. “Oh man,” they will say. “You have got your hands full.”
He is, quite simply, always on the go.
I would be lying if I didn’t say a little part of me is scared for back-to-school this week, when his older sisters head to the classroom and won’t be here to help me catch the little imp when he’s getting into mischief. (I mean, just look at that picture of him with his older sister. Doesn’t he have “trouble” written all over his adorable face?)
But I have to also say that this age, the tender age of the “terrible twos” is so precious to me. I can see in his face, in the deep-brown eyes that sparkle in play, the adorable dimples that flash me a smile as he runs by, the sticky kisses that he still will give me, the little boy he is growing into, and I want so badly to hold on to the magic of this age. He’s just right, in-between a little man and my baby, and I want it to stay this way forever.
Except, of course, much like my son is always on the move, this time is fleeting. Such is the life of a mother.
Luckily, as hard as it can be to watch them grow, there is a lot of fun and excitement to be had in watching my son at this age explore the world.
Maybe the terrible twos don’t have to be so terrible after all.
Image property of Chaunie Brusie