Griffin at Two

My last, sweet little baby boy is two.

At two, you have a mind of your own to rival that of an adults. You know what you want, when you want it and you expect all of us in your vicinity to get it for you... quickly. Your personality is so strong that your father has nicknamed you the "tyrant".

But if you are a tyrant (and you are, just a bit), you are a lovable one. You are a cuddler and a hugger. You give kisses and exude love to everyone in your family. You refuse to go to bed at night without hugging both of your brothers at least twice.

You are the happiest of our brood in the morning. You wake up, eager to start each day with absolute glee. You are running, giggling and jumping well before breakfast. Your happiness is infectious for all of us. You give us a heaping dose of morning joy to welcome the day.

You love to sing. You really love to dance. Your latest obsession is your electric guitar that you dance and sing along with for your adoring audience. You also love to play kitchen and go grocery shopping, but your absolute favorite is to play hockey. You grab our mini hockey sticks, a puck and hit around the house for hours. You were destroyed to discover you weren't signed up to learn ice hockey with your brothers. I think the fellow parents at the ice rink are still laughing over the irate almost two year old screaming, "I HOCKEY. I HOCKEY. ME TOO, Momma! I CAN HOCKEY TOO."

You are independent and spirited. You amaze me with how quickly you learn new things. You speak in complete sentences with confidence. You like to pretend you are much older than you are. But, selfishly, I want you to remain our baby. Please do not grow up too fast. We want to hold onto you for much, much longer.

Happy Two, my sweet tyrant of a boy. (even if you keep telling everyone you are four.)