Saturday was Chance’s second birthday. The changes Keen and I have witnessed since
he’s been born and in this last year have been amazing. And for me (and Keen too), though the
developmental breakthroughs are fascinating to watch, what I’ve really enjoyed,
what I have so much fun with, is seeing him become the person he is.

One of the wonderful things about toddlers is their
exuberance, and Chance has more than his fair share.  He’s been growing more energetic, socially and
physically, every day… sometimes to the point of exhaustion (for all of us
concerned). He loves being in the midst
of any activity going on; he loves being outside or in any space that allows
him to run; he loves being around people. Occasionally he does play shy, but at most Chance averts his gaze for
ten minutes or so and then he’ll grab a hand to drag someone off to play. (It’s all a prelude to flirting anyway.)  He partied up a storm at his birthday bash.

As excited and outgoing as he is, lately Chance has been
looking a little worse for wear.  It
seems to go along with that exuberance; the inability to fear scaling a new
height, explore a new trick, maneuver a body into some impossible space that
happens at this age.  There are always
new scrapes, new cuts, fading bruises and hair stuck up every which way. And the sudden growth spurts that seem to
leave him hollow-eyed for a couple of weeks, as if his face can’t quite keep up
and needs time to adjust to the added two inches of growth.  He is much too on-the-go to bother with growing sedately (and not at all concerned with the resulting appearances).  It’s almost as if his emerging personality,
his emerging self keeps crashing into the world, just like he keeps crashing
into walls (and floors and trees), until it must
show on his skin.  (And as such the
momentous presence of a toddler, new to the world, is seen.)

It seems par for the course for toddlers and I find it… well…
when a tuckered two-year-old with bruised legs and sticky fingers crawls into
your lap for some down-time and cuddles, and you feel their hot, grubby body
snuggled into yours and breathe dust in their hair… I find it absolutely
precious. This year has brought new illumination
to an old turn of phrase…

My little ragamuffin. Happy Birthday, kiddo. I love
you.         – mom