That is what my baby says when I ask him, “Quel age as-tu?”

It’s funny because when I ask him how old he is he says, “I’m eight.” I have no idea why he is so enamoured with the number huit/eight but he better not push the big boy department. He is still my baby.

Even as I type my heart is melting as he plays with the new toys he received last night (a little early) for his birthday. He is wearing a Thomas the Train backpack while trying to put some tracks together…I am sure in a minute or two he will switch back to tractors and in another minute or two pull on my arm for me to join him on the floor. How can I resist that little voice saying, “Mom? Mom? Mom?”?”

While I do feel I have done a really good job savoring every moment of the last seven hundred and twenty some odd days I still have daily moments where I desperately try to hang onto little things he used to do, kicking myself for not writing enough down, wondering where I would have found the time to do that, trying to imagine this second baby when the one I have right now is so absolutely wonderful…

Blog entries like this are almost pointless – they can easily lead to me sobbing as I try to convey motherhood and the wonderful, darling qualities, quirks, and ‘isms of my beautiful, beautiful-almost-two- but-still-my-baby..P.R.

Instead, I’ll simply post this little photo of joy!