On Tuesday, this little baby turned two.
It’s not a lie, this, “It goes so fast!” business.
I-just-turned-two-years-old Reed likes books, words and stories. He likes animals (so long as they don’t get too close) and animal noises and throwing sticks and leaves. He likes people and personal space and sitting in just the right chair. He likes outside. He likes coffee and tea and milk and dates and chocolate. He likes more TV than he is allowed. He likes pens and moleskins and Helen and patting down dough in the kitchen. He likes teasing and pushing buttons on crosswalks. He likes trucks and pillows and shoes and lights, and he likes being a stinker.
He likes millions of things. But he doesn’t like numbers very much or telling you how old he is. He prefers letters and answering questions like “How was your day?” or “What does an elephant say?” or “Where is your brow?” And he doesn’t like walking past the cinema without getting an ice cream cone (a fate that befalls him frequently).
I love you, two-year-old!