There’s this two year old who lives in my house. I’m not going to name names but if you’re real sleuthy, you might figure out who I’m talking about. But anyway, this two year old is driving me absolutely insane.
This kid. He’s two years old today and he LIGHTS UP MY LIFE. And I’m not saying it in that ‘having kids is so much fun’ kind of way, because trust me, I’m the first person to be sceptical when I hear anyone say that having kids is awesome fun because (a) it’s not and (b) you’re lying and (c) if you’re not lying then shut up, I hate you. But honestly, Sam at two is just a complete pleasure. 95% of the time.
He’s so cute, he’s so cute, he’s so cute, he’s SO CUTE. This is the mantra I have to repeat over and over to myself when it’s 5am and we’ve been up playing for a good five hours and somebody just doesn’t want to go back to sleep. That’s right, we’ve been bitten by the bug, the nasty 18 month sleep regression bug. Before I go on, I should warn you that this post is likely to contain language that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18, or easily offended by my potty mouth. Proceed with caution!
Today, Sam is 18 months old. In 18 months, the tiny helpless screaming little blob that was thrust onto my chest and deep into my life has not only quadrupled in size, he’s evolved to become a little human being. Our days are now pretty routine, and I feel like I have less to say than when he was 6 months, 9 months and even 12 months old.
Some days, it’s 8am and you’ve already contemplated going out and buying cake. Some days, it’s a reality. You go out and buy not one, but two portions of cake, with All The Intention In The World of sharing it with a friend. Turns out your friend isn’t having sugar right now – how convenient. So you eat all the cake, all by yourself. And you feel damn good about it.
