YOU

The Babe is nearing the 2 1/2 year mark.

This is an important landmark for parents.

It means you have survived the first six months of the terrible twos.

No one will hand you an award or pat you on the back over the cleverness of your survival, but you will know, and as you wipe the sweat from your brow and pause from scraping spaghetti off the ceiling, you will give yourself the fortifying pep talk of "Only 6 months left, only 6 months left."

At least, thats what I did with the Bear.....who was an angel until he hit the 3 and half year mark. He was our late attitude bloomer.

Then came Cubby....

who blasted all milestones and usual norms out of the water. Spaghetti on the ceiling? Ha! Mere child's play. Who thinks the camera should go for a swim in the toilet? Who wants to scream bloody murder for an hour for no reason? Who wants to spend every minute of the day finding new ways to die with creative flourish?

Cubby made me want to google the addresses of authors who had written the parenting books on my shelves. I wanted to find out where they lived so I could confront them, parenting manuals in hand, and hit them over the head with it. Plan B was to just ding dong ditch Cubs at the door....but he was too cute to leave behind. His eyes were too blue. His freckles were too....freckly? Ugh. I couldn't get him out of my system. So he stayed and we endured and just as I managed to pick myself up off the ground, shake the dust off, and pull forks out of the electrical sockets, I was pregnant with child numero tres...round 3.

Not to be outdone...our Babe looked at Path A and Path B, shook his head and whipped out a machete and began bushwhacking his own path.

While most 2 1/2 year olds ask for apple juice and a bubble bath and cheerios, our toddler asks for coffee, hot showers and parfaits.

If I lose him at the playground, I don't bother with the usual kiddie areas, I find the most complicated, dangerous area of the equipment, typically found near a sign reading something like "Ages 8+ only" and there I find him. My son. Curly hair, big brown eyes, irresistible chin dimple, bossing around twelve year olds and hanging upside down from the monkey bars without a thought for the 6 feet of open air beneath him.

Babe usually takes home the biggest prizes at the end of the day.

Beach Day Award for Most sand in a body crevice? Babe.

Publix Award for Most wine bottles knocked off the shelf in a single swipe? Babe.

Library Award for Best use of shelving for purposes of escape/possible espionage? Babe.

Parking Lot Award for Most heart stopping moment of the year 2012? Babe.

Party Award for Most downed cups of discarded wine when no one was looking? Babe.

I love you little Babe. You drive me crazy and I don't think I could ever kiss you enough.

You drink a cup of hot milk with a shot of coffee every Saturday morning. You ask for a parfait every day. You OWN your brothers. Does it matter that they are two and three years older than you? Nope, not one bit. Your right hook puts theirs to shame.

The way you pray....is one of the sweetest things I have ever heard.

Your cuddles.

Your cheeky grins.

Don't even get me started on the way you giggle.

Or the devastating perfection of your cute little booty. It is ode worthy my friend. Ode worthy.

As per usual, I can't drink alcohol during the terrible twos because I am nursing someone else younger than you....BUT if I were to raise a toast three weeks from now...

 Babe, I could almost 100% honestly say that I am a bit sad these six months are behind us and only six months remain.

I say almost because the small percentage still cleaning the urine off the bathroom MIRROR, replacing toothbrushes, and liberally spritzing the bathroom with bleach would SLAP me silly for wishing those six months back.

Only six months left....only six months left.... who am I kidding?