Two

I now have a two year old.

Not a baby.

A toddler.

A little boy.

For so long, I have referred to Liam as "the baby" to my husband, family and friends. Obviously, that is because he is my baby, my youngest. Yesterday, though, as we celebrated his birthday, I looked at him and saw not a baby but (gulp) a boy.

He has a little boy haircut.

He likes cars, trains and balls.

He practices burping and says "poopy" when he, er, passes gas.

Yes, this baby I am raising has turned into a boy.

I'm not sure I am ready to bid farewell to those baby days just yet.

So, as his vocabulary explodes and potty training looms, I relish the fact that he still goes "night, night" with a blue satin blankie and prefers to be rocked by me. I will sniff a little deeper and longer when I catch a whiff of Dreft on his jammies. I am going to lap up every bit of this time I have left when the baby is still visible in this two year old boy.