Pants, Zara | Top, thrifted | Flats, gift

Sometimes I'm convinced an alien has invaded my two year old's body. At times he's unrecognizable with the fits, throwing his trains, hitting me (why be specific, anyone), the long stare at me as he knowingly tosses his quesadilla off the side of his high chair. I'm convinced that the terrible twos start at 15 months and ends...well, we haven't gotten there yet. Is it always this challenging? I'm assured by my conversations with other moms that this is normal, usually accompanied by a little laugh. 

But then.

The sass (husband doesn't like when I call him a brat. ha) fades into the background and I'm assured that he's going to grow up to be an independent, strong, godly man. One who loves his wife well, will visit his parents frequently, and always call on Mother's Day.

For example, when he wakes me up with a soft gentle arm rub and a "hi mama."

The constant texts I got from husband yesterday saying he asked for me all day long, was convinced I was at the front door and made daddy open it. JUST to be sure I wasn't there. (This kinda makes me want to cry.)

As I'm putting him down for bed, I lay down with him to talk about his day, asking what toys he played with in daycare (basketball and cars and bubbles, if you care), we talk about his friends Jackson and Maurique with care, and he interjects me with a sloppy kiss and "I love you, mama."

Or in the morning when I'm still rubbing my eyes, adjusting to the light Liam says he's hungry for "brek-ast" and says "I want cookies." He usually gets yogurt instead.

The following sentences, "I like Uncle Derwick. And Auntie. Where's Katie? Talk to Grandmom on cell phone! Give trainos kisses, mama."

The twos aren't so terrible after all.

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