Oliver turns two

My little baby bunting,
all roundness and sweet,
full of mischief and sugar...

There you are, two.  No longer a baby.
But still, only two.

You love babies and baby dolls,
wrestling and trucks.
You won't sit still to eat,
but love to hug and love.
You'll clean up a mess as quickly as you'll make a glorious one.
You hold my finger as we walk down the street,
then royally rebel when I try to put you in a seat.

You're adventurous when sure of your abilities,
but tend toward caution.  You can sit with a task that
interests you for long periods of time, flipping through a book,
putting objects in tiny containers, figuring out how to build.
You love telling us to "Stop"  "Wait" "Shhh"...
You're speaking in long sentences, "Tomorrow, I'm bringing Mama to the airport."

You love chupaletas, baleadas, and things you really shouldn't eat or drink at age two, like sips of
soda or hot tea.

You love people, but aren't necessarily Mr. Social.
Your best friend is Evan,
your hero is Elliot,
and Ana is your little Mama.
Georgia is "the one who loves you."
Tita is your Juliet.

Holding you, squeezing you, snuggling you
calms me, fills me up.  The shape of your cheek,
your still curly ear, your round delicious bottom,
or rolly thighs and tummy are so beautiful.  Each of your curly ringlets
holds one of my heartstrings.  You are a cherub, and the sight of you
takes my breath away.

I'm so lucky to be your mama, And you, you'll always be my baby.