It was at his two-year-old-checkup that he was finally declared in excellent health and free from any potential residual birth trauma, and that Roux Huckleberry hasn’t stopped since.

Leaps and bounds he grew, mastering skills like running and climbing and jumping, absorbing and employing sophisticated conversation, all with the kind of charm and finesse that just can’t be taught. He is hilarious, thoughtful, determined, bright, inquisitive, and he completely adores his mama. An absolute dreamboat of a toddler, with eyes like diamonds, a heart of gold, and a healthy streak of mischief.

He sleep habits have matured significantly – sleeping through the night, soothing himself to slumber, weaning, reading his bedtime stories, singing along to his lullabies. He still enjoys being cuddled in mama and dada’s bed, and we still enjoy having him wedged between us, even as his ever-growing limbs shoot in every direction. The sound of his breathing as he snoozes makes up for all the kicks under the covers.

Knowing that he’s about to experience his first major life change – moving from his first home – amplifies the poignancy of these milestones. He’s not quite awake to what it means to have a birthday, but he did have a request: baby cakes, which is how he calls cupcakes. So it’s baby cakes with three candles and a giant golden “3” balloon. His dad and I have a special day trip planned to commemorate his third journey around the sun, a unique destination worthy of such a magnificent occasion.

The next time I squeeze him, he’ll be three. My heart.

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