In the last week my child has developed an accent. I don’t know how to describe it, and I certainly can’t imitate it. I don’t think he knows anyone with an accent, unless you count the Texans. It usually comes out when he’s whining or sassing. Words don’t always sound better with an accent, I assure you. If it didn’t come out at the worst times, one could argue that it’s pretty darn cute.

In between the times when he’s yelling at me (accent in full force) and too busy for me (child’s got an independent streak), my two year old is pretty sweet. Lots of hugs and kisses. I know his spirit is gentle. We’ve prayed it into him.

He tells us that he loves us all the time. He usually initiates the love fest with something like, “Mom, I love you too.” I like to pretend that he understands that I’m loving him all day long, and his, “I love you too’s” are a response to my wordless “I love you’s.” Like when I put his lunch down in front of him and his oranges make a happy face. It’s my wordless “I love you.” I’d like to think he gets that. Changing ten million diapers a day, cleaning up 2 billion messes a day, giving up coffee for the benefit of my nursing child, figuring out how to really use Spray and Wash – these are wordless I love you’s.

I keep telling him he’ll always be my little boy. At this point I’m still convinced that if I tell him that enough, it will be true. Please don’t burst my bubble.

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