When Carter turned two, Lydia was an infant.
He seemed so big and grown up by comparison.
When Lydia turned two, we’d just moved and were living at Gramama & Pop’s house.
She was almost potty trained.
And I think because of her longer hair, she seemed older than you do today.
I still call you “the baby”.
And even when the new baby gets here, I imagine that to me you’ll always be “the baby”.
Within the past few weeks, you’ve really started talking…stringing words together into real sentences.
Your actual first sentence (I think) was “Lydi, help me!”
You are quick to point out that you want “milk” or “cook-eees” or “eeeeeees”(cheese).
I am convinced that the reason you spoke later than the others is because you are a pronunciation snob.
You enunciate every word very specifically.
“Mi-Mouse” is your favorite, but you also love any kind of “trrucK”.
Where Lydia hardly had any “r”s in her vocabulary, you make sure to hit them hard:
You are probably my cuddliest baby.
You love to give kisses and your hugs are the best.
(Except that one time you bit the crap out of my shoulder during what I thought was a loving embrace.)
You hate vegetables, and could probably live on cheese and milk alone.
You are super sneaky.
You can and will pull a fast one on anybody who’s not paying complete attention to you.
You are 100% a rough and tumbly boy!
Your laugh is adorable, and I love when you squinch up your nose and grin.
And the “OOOh!” face? Be still, my beating heart…I do so love the “Oooh!” face.
(Even with blood and steri-strips.)
You are funny.
You are cute.
You are no longer a baby.
You are a big boy who sleeps in a big boy bed and eats with a big boy fork.
You try your best to keep up with the big kids.
And I try my best to keep up with you.
I love you, stinky face!
P.S. I had the perfect picture of you that I wanted to show from your birthday party on Saturday,
but alas, my memory card failed me and I can’t seem to access any of the pictures I took that day.