the way the sunlight shines in his brown eyes, accentuating his eyelashes so black and perfectly curled – the way his skin is soft and pink and his lips are perfectly shaped and colored. his straight dirty blonde hair has grown long and hangs just a little in his eyes and curls just as it touches his neck. he’ll be three in a little over a month. and he’s hilarious and mischievous and perfect. my heart breaks from the weight of love. he’s so smart and insightful and whole and alive. he makes jokes and laughs at himself, climbs on the kitchen counter and makes cups of coffee with sugar and pours bottles of water out on the floor. he writes on the walls and runs away and laughs with delight when i call him to come get dressed and then takes my hand and presses it against his perfectly smooth, pink cheek and leans in saying mm mmm. he still fits perfectly in my lap, curled up in a little ball, knees tucked in, head against my chest. he doesn’t understand what he has taught me about humility and learning styles and hope and authority. maybe one day he will. but not until he has his own little perfect toddler baby running around the house, making him crazy and perfectly happy all at once.
Three years old is my favorite.