On Tuesday, Logan turns two.
Every day, I think, at some point, "My God, he's two!" That is typically followed by marveling over how tall he is and how coordinated and all of the things he's done over the course of his two years to get to the toddler we have now.
He's over three-feet tall, loves walking and playing "Gonna Gitcha!" and chair laps. He's reached a picky food stage, so he's essentially living on chicken tenders, eggs and cheese with many, many Ella's Kitchen pouches to provide fruits/veggies.
He remains quiet verbally but can recognize letters and numbers and follow commands. He still goes to bed very well, and his wake up time has improved to closer to 6 am, rather than 5 am.
He loves, loves, loves cars and trucks, and he has a favorite set of "car jammies" which he'll carry around the house if they're not on his body. He can do most of the motions to "Wheels on the Bus" and looks absolutely adorable doing the "move on back" motion. He does "experiments" in the bath, filling cups and bottles and tipping them over to watch the water.
He likes pointing out our landscaping lights. When he's upset, he'll either pat his head (which means both physical and emotional "ouchies") or he'll find a surface to bang his head on. We're not quite sure why he does that, but he definitely has a flare for drama, sinking slowly to the carpet when really distraught over something.
Every now and again, I can entince him to run over to me for a smooch fest, otherwise, I need to steal them when I can. He's used to it, though, and will sometimes even hold still for the impending smooch assault.
He is my joy, my sunshine, my angel, my baby, my love, my heart, my soul. I love him more than I ever could have imagined was even possible.
Happy Birthday, Logan! You are everything to me.
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