Two.

Today Ryan turns two whole years old. If you ask him how many years he is, he will hold up five fingers. Not so fast, little one. Being the sap that I am, I cried last night while I put him to bed because it was the very last time as a one year old. I know. I know. 

Sometimes ... okay, a lot, I still call him my baby. And he always will be. He is my toddler often when he is making mischief, and my little boy when he runs to follow Chris out of the room, pauses to turn around and holds up his hand, looks at me seriously and announces, "Bye, Mama." But he will always be my first baby. 

Okay, enough of that sap. Here is a little spin-off of this post, Ryan style.

Making: us laugh with his pronunciation of penguins. Take out the g and the u and the second n. 
Cooking: eggs. Ryan is a mean egg scrambler. "Mama! Make! Eggs!" is a frequent request/demand. He always likes to brown any meat I'm cooking or saute onions (read: push everything around). By doing so, he cooks up quite a mess. 
Drinking: "Juicy." Chris and I are confused as to why he calls it juicy rather than juice when we never deem the drink similar to gossip. He has been drinking a lot of juice these past couple of days as we attempt to potty train him.
Reading: The most often requested books are Win One for the Gipper, Away in a Manger, The Twelves Days of Christmas, Twas the Night Before Christmas. We can't help but groggily smile when Ryan comes clammering into our room yelling, "George Gipp!" When Ryan was consistently beating the crack of dawn in the wake-up race, he would always bring me I'm Not Going to Get Up Today to read. The irony was most definitely lost on him. Oh and Go Dog Go is always a favorite, which I think is terribly sweet because Chris liked that one as a boy.
Wanting: cake. Lucky for him today!
(Not) Looking: for Chris' wedding ring. We ask him where he put it, and he innocently points where it should be. 
Playing: with Legos. That is his last request of the day and first request of the next day.
Wasting: diapers.
Saying: "'Scuse me, Mama," as he passes me to go make some mischief whether it be making the Christmas tree bare or reaching for anything that I am cooking.
Wishing: family lived closer. He always asks for his grandparents and uncles and aunts.
Enjoying: an audience in Conor. "Wook, Conor! Wook!"
Waiting: for the weather to be good enough for a bike ride again. Chris took him on one last week when it was above 30 degrees, and then I enjoyed a mother-son bike ride date with him the next day. Now all we see in the near future is snow, snow and negative degrees.
Liking: his after dinner responsibility of blowing out the Advent Christmas candles.
Wondering: where the football he threw out the car window landed. 
Loving: his brother hard.
Hoping: that we bake cookies all day, every day.
Marveling: at how often Chris and I forget to press play when we call the babysitter named Netflix. He comes running up with the remote, "Almost! Almost!"
Needing: cuddle time with me at bedtime. I normally nurse Conor in Ryan's bed when I'm putting Ryan to bed. Once Ryan finally settles down after the initial surge of energy his pajamas seem to induce, he scoots over next to me and announces, "Mama! Cuddle! Pleeeease!" And so I nurse on my left side and somehow reach my right arm around that curly-haired boy of ours.
Smelling: like coconut oil after we give Conor a bath because he must have a 'sage, too. 
Wearing: his snow boots.
Following: in his dad's footsteps ... or we could say taste buds. Spicy food is the best food. 
Noticing: any small movement I make in the kitchen. "Mama! Move! Chair!"
Knowing: the fight song ... or at least the last word of each line with a few in the middle. 
Remembering: anything and everything.  
Repeating: see above. Ditto. 
Telling: the same story he told five minutes ago.
Feeling: like he is strong enough to carry Conor. No. 
(Un)Bookmarking: Chris' book of the moment, Lost Tales. Apparently, he likes anything to do with dogs, even dog ears.
Opening: the tube of toothpaste. Spicy + brushing teeth = the best time for Ryan Donald Harrington.
Waking: Conor up. He puts on this extra high pitched toddler voice and places his face right next to his little brother's then shrieks through closed teeth, "Conor! Awake! Conor!" It's actually really cute as terrifying as it sounds ... as long as Conor wasn't really sleeping. 
Being: Sweet and stubborn.

We love you, Ryan Donald Harrington. You're a dream made real. 

Love,
Us

P.S. I'm pretty sure you have more hair at two than I did. 







Birth Story. 
1st Birthday.