two and a half

I was looking at pictures of you last night.

Pictures from when you were born.

So big for a newborn, but so tiny compared to now.

Two years ago, you were getting ready to celebrate your first Christmas.  You could barely sit, let alone talk.  Your main concern was how you were going to get me to quit putting you in annoying cute holiday sweaters and pants.

This morning you were cuddled up next to me on the couch watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse after yelling, “MOOOOOOMMMMMYY!  I POOOOOOOPPPP!!!!” from your crib.

I nuzzled my nose into your hair.

I can’t believe how fast you are growing.

The other day, you and I watched a video from last Christmas.  You didn’t have any words and you were just toddling around.

My little 18 month old boy.

Not really understanding Christmas, but loving all the attention, the late nights, and the presents.

And now, as I type this, you are sitting next to me at the table.

Your head rests on my right arm as you watch Sesame Street over my computer.

Last night, you squished yourself next to me in “our” chair and patted my tummy and informed me that “Mommy, Eddie, and Baby Cha-wee” were all in the chair, but “not daddy.”

Because you call me “mommy” now instead of “momma”.

You are so smart.  You know your letters and numbers and colors and shapes.

You have so much to say.

Maybe sometimes too much.

You are tall and people mistaken you for a 3 year old all the dang time.

Your shirts say “4T” and your pants “3T”, but I know you have more baby in you yet.

This year you finally “get” Christmas.

You love to sing “Away in the Manger” and inform me that Baby Jesus slept in a barn and was crying and crying.

You know that Santa Claus is the guy in red who brings presents.

You love to give people their gifts.

And you LOVE to sing “Jingle Bells.”

It is almost impossible for me to wrap my mind around the fact that you, Eddie, are the same person I cuddled close to my face in the hospital 30 months ago.

Two and a half years.

Last night you promised me you would stay little.

But I know that is a promise you can’t keep.

And most of me is glad.

But there is a small part of my heart is sad that we can’t just push “pause” on time and stay like this.

Two and a half years.

Full of demands and tantrums and “I do it!’s” and hugs and books and funny dances and sayings and sheep bombs (or as you say, peep pombs).

Two and a half years.

I love it.

And I love you, my dear Eddie Bear.

I am so proud to be your Mommy.

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