On Carter Being Two

Dear Carter,

You wake up in the morning with cartoonish yawns and a crookedy smile, stretching your skinny smidges of arms and knobby little legs out in your fleece firefighter footed jammies. You laugh at me for waking you up on school days, a caustic social commentary on how silly the six o’clock hour is.

When you’re especially sleepy, or especially happy, or especially impish, your Precious Moment teardrop-eyes slide right down the sides of your face — an adorable abstract masterpiece. Your dome makes you a tad top heavy, and you’ve got a pretty wild cowlick to boot, but I’d be lying if I didn’t declare you the cutest human being I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Who loves you?


What do you want to drink?

“Hot chocklit milk.” Which is not chocolate at all, but just warm milk in a sippy.

What do you like to eat?

“Fruit Nacks. Ananas. Pickuld oakrah. Pepperownees. Raisins. PIZZA. Appulls. Blooburries. Cheese stick.”

You know shapes and colors and all the letters of the alphabet (though refuse to entertain the song). Your favorite color is “geen” and your “faborate” food is French fries. You can kick a ball with more accuracy and ferocity than kids twice your age, but walking isn’t exactly a strength. My genes, sorry. You pinch my cheeks, honk my nose, and hold my hand to cross the street. You yell “Rock nnnn Roooowl” as you run down the sidewalk, and you shout random numbers — “Two…Seb’m…Eight…Eleb’m” — when you count the pages of books. You know all the trucks on the road, and list them to me as we begin our day: “Cement ‘Ixer. Scoobus. Police car…WOO WOO.”

You talk all the time.

Because you’re so social and demanding of everyone’s attention, I was shocked when I spied on you last Sunday in the church nursery. You moseyed on over, solo, to an empty table filled with puzzles, and slid into one of the miniature red plastic chairs. Swinging your feet (they don’t quite touch the floor yet), you set to work. The room was full of kids to play with, but you were most content playing on your own. Fast forward an hour when I came to pick you up — you were still seated by your puzzles, but now half of the nursery was crowded around you, watching you plug the pieces into their rightful niches.

We’ve started to say our prayers together every night. Mostly, I say them, and you repeat (with your own twist). We end each prayer thanking God for all of the people who love you so.

God bless Carter and Mommy and Papa and Grammy…

“Gawd bluss (gigglegiggle) Papa and Grammy.”

God bless Mimi and Uncle Taylor…

“Bluss Mimi and Uncle Taylur.”

Who else?


Yep. Who else?


God bless Uncle Patrick and Aunt Megan…

“Bluss Uncle Pachick and Uncle Magan.”

God bless Baby Sean and Baby Kami.

“Bebe Jean and Bebe Kami.”

God bless Jesse and Niecey and Lou…


God bless Lyndsay and John…

“Gawd bluss Lenny and Jawn.”

Who else?

(Gigglegiggle) Gawd bluss…hellacopper?

(Sidenote: this goes on for a while, until the blocks, Doc McStuffins, books, cars, trains, trucks, Mickeys, and balls far outnumber the people.)



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