>And Now You Are Two

>My darling Bruiser, I will always remember this last year as the one in which you went from the world’s most rambunctious and inquisitive baby to the world’s most loving little boy.

When you first turned one, your hugs and cuddles were few and far between, generally reserved for when you were sick. Today, your daddy swears you are the most affectionate of all the Ferrier children. You routinely insist on giving kisses (on the lips!) to everyone in the room and one of your favorite places of all is on my lap, your cheek firmly pressed against mine.

Despite that, you remain our rough and tumble little boy. You adore physical contact, whether you’re being snuggled close or tickled until you’re in fits.

Affection aside, you still managed to try my patience like no one else this past year. I spent half my time marveling over your bright and comedic little self and the other half trying to keep strange objects out of your mouth, waking up with you at (or before) the crack of dawn every single morning, saving you from poisoning yourself (I still shudder today thinking about that moment), saying “NO!” a thousand times a day, threatening you with temporary housing, unsuccessfully attempting to get you to pose for pictures, and tallying up the financial damages you’ve already managed to incur, most notably that time I still can’t bring myself to even mention. Let’s just say you really outdid yourself that day!

Despite being surrounded by oceans of estrogen and pink tulle and taffeta and baby dolls and Barbies, you’ve managed to grow up grunting and groaring and mess-making your way through each day, and your innate “boyness” has only become more evident over the last year. You were a puller of braids and a sticky fingerprint-er. You were a wielder of butcher knives and you were a first rate stain-maker. And you screamed like nobody’s business. Oh, how you screamed.

You raised the bar on “messy” and then you raised it again. Big time. You ate lots of cookies and, my little Hansel, left crumbs wherever you went.

You also ate dirt. And, truth be told, you were the very first Ferrier to eat your own poo. In fact, your poo is often on my mind, not to mention other places.

I have to admit, you’ve been growing faster than I’d like. In the last year alone, you learned to walk. You learned to run. You learned to jump. You got your first professional haircut. You took to the soccer field like you were born to kick a ball. You discovered your… ahem… you know. You continued to gross me out. You established that you weren’t afraid of anything. Except being head butted by a goat.

You originally were a Daddy’s boy, which, I’ll admit, made me just a little bit jealous.

But as the months wore on, you veered over to Team Mommy. You began minding me for a change. You danced for me, made your YouTube debut, and stole my heart. You were so photogenic I couldn’t stand it. You started snuggling with me even more. A lot more. And I loved it.

And yet, your heart has always belonged to your big sister. During the past year, you’ve transformed from her little tagalong to her twin. You want to eat her food, play with whatever she’s playing with, watch what she’s watching on TV. She’s come up with a multitude of imagination games that you spend the day acting out together. At night, you both giggle and chatter in the dark until you drop off to sleep. The two of you seem to live in your own magical world. And I’ve tried to capture the two of you in that world together as well as I could. I watch you and your sister and can’t help but think you’ll be thick as thieves for as long as you both live.

You were one and it was so much fun. And then on Saturday morning, you woke up and you were… two.

And somehow you already looked and acted older. Your legs seemed longer. You were saying new words. You looked at picture books with your grandfather, and repeated everything he read with gusto. You played with your new cars with a newfound seriousness and sense of purpose. You are two, and I have no doubt you’ll be even better, stronger, funnier, and more loving at two than you were at one.

And yet a part of your one-year-old self will always, always remain in my heart. My baby. My last baby, smiling and dancing and giving me big messy kisses forever and ever.

I love you, Bruiser boy. Happy, happy birthday.