Addison will be 2 years old in 27 days.
He is running around, tackling his big brothers,
and saying words like "watch" and "poot" (poop).
He laughs when his brothers talk about gas and
other inappropriate subjects.
He wants to play with Thomas the Train and light sabers.
He is trying to manipulate legos - the kind for 7 years and up.
Addison is trying to be big.
He is trying to forget about being a baby
and starting in on being a big boy.
And I have to say, tsgs, that it breaks my heart.
I am a sappy susan when it comes to this.
Because he is my last. My last baby.
When we found out Addison would be our third boy,
Scott told me I could "pop this one out and try for a girl."
Firstly, there is no popping, for those of you who have birthed
people and know such things.
Secondly, after this last round of post-partum, I'm pretty sure
if I had #4 I would be sent off to a special place with padded walls,
and the children would have to visit mommy only on special days.
I think my child bearing days have come to a close.
Which means Addison's 2nd birthday is bearing down on me like a
locomotive because technically after they are two they really
begin to leave all things baby behind.
There is only one small glimmer of hope in all of this.
In the last month or so, Addie has been asking to "wock" (rock)
before he takes his nap or goes to bed at night.
So we hunker down in the rocker near his crib,
Addison sticks his forefinger in his mouth and we proceed to rock
and sing. Jesus loves me. Jesus loves the little children.
Or his most recent request - Bet. Or we hsm2 lovers refer to it -
Bet on it. Interesting choice for a lullaby, I know.
And so, even though Addie is big in so many ways.
When we rock, we are nose to nose, heart to heart,
mommy and baby for just a little while longer.
And it just doesn't get any better than that.