I can't get over you.
Sometimes, you make me crazy- that's true. But sometimes, I walk down the sidewalk behind you and can't help but giggle. I'm just so delighted that you're mine.
The way that you run so hard, flailing your little limbs. The way that you laugh until you can't breathe. The way that you love bugs, and trains, and waterfalls - things I never cared about until now.
I love it when you're playing by yourself and you are singing quietly under your breath.
I love it when I catch you gazing out the window, lost in thought.
I love it when you climb something high, lift something heavy, or do something silly and shout, "Look at me, Mom! Watch this!"
I can't get over the way that you love each other. The way that you take care of each other. Protect each other. Fight each other. Understand each other.
I guess it's that twin-thing. I'll never quite be a part of it.
I try not to mind.
Things are dirtier and noisier than I expected.
I didn't expect so much mud. I didn't realize that there would be pockets full of rocks, and diapers full of sand.
I didn't think that you'd bring home quite so many sticks.
We spend more time in the woods than I planned on.
I don't mind that, either, though.
In fact, if only you'd wear a few more costumes and read slightly more books about things that aren't diggers, I'd say things were perfect.
Actually, we're close enough to the mark that I'll say: things are perfect.
Things are messy, noisy, dirty, silly, lovey, and perfect.
Thanks for making me a boy-mom.
It's all I ever wanted.
You are my favorite and my best.