My girl is going to be two on Sunday.
Two.
TWO.
Man, did that fly!
I love two. I really do. What a fantastic age. She has strong opinions on dressing herself (which in and of itself gives me tons of belly laughter), speaks in full sentences and plays a terrible, but hilarious game of hide & seek. I love that I can understand her now. I love that she asks for sugar on everything.
Everything.
I love that she knows all the characters on all her favorite shows and says “Ernie” with a French accent. aaiiiirrrr-NEE!
I love that she equates the back yard with nakedness. Summer clothes for babies are so unnecessary.
Apparently our backyard is a nudist resort.
It’s getting easier these last few months. And thank God because 18-21 months was ROUGH–she could move around as much as she wanted, understood a lot of what we were saying, but couldn’t communicate what she wanted well.
It was like living with an underachieving foreign exchange student with ADHD.
Then I got another positive pregnancy test and thought, “oh MAN, what in the world did we sign up for?!” But now, now I think we can handle two. Two kids, and a two year-old. It’s pretty awesome, and I think we’re doing alright.
I’m sort of mourning the upcoming third birthday of my youngest. Two is SUCH a fabulous age! As different as my three kids are, two has been my hands down favorite age with all three of them. We’re now getting into the boundary-testing threes, the whiny not-quite-independent fives and the horror of middle school. Shudder.
Two is not terrible. The “terrible twos” is a myth. They are exhaustingly physical at two, but fabulous and wonderful in every other way and they are just learning at such a breakneck pace that you can’t help but be amazed.
I’m glad you’re embracing two! It is a wonderful, enjoyable age!