My Littlest Love

Mac, the melter of hearts.

Mac is two today. My baby.

I'm trying to be all chipper and breezy about it. Because this is a happy occasion! Truly, I know that in my heart. I do.

Our little Mac is strong, smart, healthy, and growing in leaps and bounds. I feel so very grateful for his light in our lives. And that's what we're celebrating today.

Yep. Just another birthday, people. No need for tissues, thank you very much.

I mean, who wants to be that sappy mom, anyway? That mom is soooo cliche.

Of course, I did consider regaling you with the frantic, quick-as-a-flash way in which he entered this world. Or delving into the five days we spent at the hospital, wringing our hands as his tiny body fought off a raging fever. Or how I knew we had a gentle soul in our care.

But I thought better of it. Those are our stories - the tender, newborn details tucked away at my center. Stories that will be with me until I pass into the blue someday. Maybe even after that.

The ultimate ski groupie. Next year, bud!

They're branding, those first days and months when your child is fresh from the other side, their untrained, bleary eyes focused always and only on you. Once a parent, you're marked forever.

And now, I have a baby-turned-boy. That's definitely what he is, too. I guess you could say he's more toddler than boy, but still, as I watch him scrunch up his face just now, one chubby hand on his round tummy, the other scratching his equally round head, I see a boy.

He throws food like a quarterback. He shrugs like a cool dude. He has this really disturbing habit of sounding like Darth Vader at random times. He talks about Captain America with utter reverence (FYI: 'round here, The Cap' is called He-Whoa. Translation: Hero). He imitates our speech like a super-adorable, non-feathered mynah bird.

Basically, he's packing his bags for college.

Aaaand, there I go again. Getting ahead of myself is one of the things I do best.

Yes, I know that his chubby Fred Flintstone feet are still firmly planted in Littledom. He's only two, for crying out loud! It's just that I'm overly sentimental and reflective these days. Let's chalk it up to some alarming 30-something phase, though I have a feeling it's a permanent affliction.

So, maybe I'm over thinking it, this birthday of his.

The littlest one gets all the big hand-me-downs!

I feel lucky, that's what all the fuss is about. Being Mac's Mama is one fantastic job. He's roly poly; he's smooshy sweet; he's a daily dose of double rainbow. Nah, make that a triple.

This little boy with the big, blue eyes, who can turn me and The Russian into piles of mush, is now two.

Happy birthday, my littlest love. I love you all the way to the moon and back.

*And now I will have my sappy moment. Shamelessly. Because this Mama's earned it.

:)