Oh that two year old of mine!
A few minutes ago he came up to me holding out his arms and said, “On hut!! On kiss!!” (which means “Want hug! Want kiss!” for those of you who do not speak Two). The he proceeded to play his favorite game in which he points at a part of my body and I singsong, “Mama’s [body part],” then he points to the same part on himself and I again label it, and then he races off to where his brother is soundly sleeping (late sleeper, that one) and although I can no longer see what he’s doing, I call out the same label for his brother’s part, which is apparently correct because he then races back to me to begin the process again. He was absolutely ecstatic when I showed him that our cat has the very same variety of identifiable parts. I don’t think the cat was as thrilled though.
And just like his brother before him (and presumably, two year olds everywhere), the thing he says the very most is, clear as a bell, “Mama, what’s that?” And he says it over and over and over and over and over (and over and over and over).
Terrible twos my ass. Sure there’ve been some tantrums (and likely many more to come) but two is so much funnier and sweeter and sillier and smarter than one, how could anyone call it terrible?