two.

Tomorrow he's two. Whoa. While I can easily say I can't believe he's already two, I can just as easily say I can't believe he's ONLY two. It feels like he's been in my life forever as I can't remember life B.S. (that's before Sam, not my usual meaning of BS). The more I think about it, the more I realize that "two" is about to me my new theme. I'll have 2 boys. Two hineys to wipe. Two mouths to feed (well, three because I guess Phil still counts :) ). Two cribs. And too little time to myself in all likelihood. But I've transitioned. I don't care about pedicures, and I don't care about what my hair looks like. Although my UPS driver would probably say I should start caring about the latter - only he sees me at my "finest".

All I really care about is whether Sam is ok. Whether he having is fun. He wants to help me scoop my coffee into the coffee maker each morning. Is it easier to do it quickly myself? Definitely. But he pushes over the kitchen chair and climbs up holding the scoop as if he knows how important it is for me to have my coffee. He counts with me to 4, although every number sounds like "none". He wants to feed Daisy at night. He grabs her bowl and places it under his arm while he carefully pulls out the heavy dog food tub. He lets me scoop out and helps me count. He makes her sit and again while carefully balancing the bowl against his leg, he makes Daisy "give him five" before putting down her food. He still pushes around the corn popper while I vacuum, mimicking my actions. He claps at the end of the Sesame Street theme song but when Super Grover flies into that street sign, he looks concerned while saying "Oh no!". He wants nothing more than to put on his shoes and go outside. Or to Dada's car-car. He hates Mamma's car-car. He loves things that move - cars, trucks, trains, fire engines, etc - and calls them all "car-cars". They all make a "chop-choo" sound when he is playing with them. He likes to break things and watch me fix them so he can intentionally break them again and fix them on his own. Every time I ask him if he is excited about the new house, he tells me to get his shoes as if he's ready to go right this second. (So am I Bubba, so am I)

His world is about to change. He's going to have to share me. I don't know who its going to be harder on, me or him. But I know he is going to be such a good brother. He is so concerned about everyone else. He straps in his stuffed dog to his booster seat so he can eat lunch too. If he sees Snoop Dogg laying on the floor alone, he runs to him picks him  up and hugs him. Placing him in a better spot when the hug is over.

Already two.
Only two.

I love you Bubba. More than anything in the whole world.

(And a few from my minolta 35mm film camera. . . I've picked it back up and I'm determined not to be intimidated.)