Two years of Ben

{The birthday boy is getting over a cold. Hence
the snot, chapped lips, feverish eyes and
disheveled hair. Hopefully he’s on the mend.}

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Happy birthday, Ben!

We’ve had fun celebrating you. And, trust me, buddy, there’s no one else like you. Plus, you’re always up for a party.

You don’t usually want to snuggle, but you nearly always want to be help upside down and tickled. You say “holda” when you want picked up. And you aren’t afraid to make this — or any other wish — known.

You say hi to nearly everyone we pass in the grocery store, call most every elderly man “Papaw,” and often {although unpredictably} growl a bear-meets-Incredible Hulk sound to get someone’s attention.

You’re all boy. People always told me boys were different than girls. After about two days with you, I believed them. And I haven’t doubted it a day since. You like trucks and balls and animals. You drum on anything using any utensil or stick-shaped object. And you are always moving.

You go and go and go. Then you crash for naptime before you go and go and go some more until bedtime. You like to go to bed at 7 and then wake up close to 7 the next morning. Of course, anybody would sleep that well if they were as busy as you.

People told me my second-born child who was a boy wouldn’t talk nearly as much as my first-born girl. These people were wrong. You repeat anything, get frustrated when we don’t understand you, and add new words to your vocabulary often. Sometimes you even yell just to make sure you’re heard. You’re starting to put together words to make short sentences. I love hearing all you have to say.

Unsolicited “I love you” is the best phrase. You melt my heart.

And then you make a mess. Lots of messes really. You like to feed yourself with a spoon and fork. And then you often put the utensils in your hair. Bibs returned so we didn’t have to throw away any more food-stained shirts. You really love hot dogs, pickles, Cheetoes {which is what you call any chips …}, yogurt, applesauce, yogurt-covered raisins and fruit snacks {which is what you are requesting with the seemingly general “snack.”}

You want to be big. Really you have no idea you’re little. You’ll climb and jump and run and keep up with whoever is near. Especially Cate. You like her close. You {try to} do what she does. And you let her help you. There’s not an ounce of fear in your 27-pound self.

Day 1 as your momma, you’ve keep me on my toes. You’re loud, messy, fearless, sweet, independent and friendly. You’ve rocked my world of having everything just like I think want it. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re going to do great things, love people fiercely, and always keep up with your sister. I’m blessed to be along for the ride.

I can’t believe you’re two, but I’m glad we made it here. And I can’t wait to see what’s next.

I love you, my boy.
Momma