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Little more than a week and he’ll be two.

Terrible two’s.

Tumbling toddler sure to make any and all messes in his path, leaving even more for you to clean up after.

Few months ago, I was there with you.

Sweeping up thrown food from his high-chair.

Chasing after him when he got too close to the busy road out front.

Letting him test the limits of extreme by jumping off surfaces into my arms below.

Teaching him how to count so we would know when to expect his sudden desire to leap off the nearest platform.

Sleeping early to wake up and read him books while you made breakfast and got yourself ready.

Playing that same damn Twinkle Twinkle Little Star YouTube video every night after bath-time, hoping that would be the night he’d finally sleep in his own bed, the one we built for him.

From someone so far separated these days, it feels like it never could’ve even happened.

Don’t even think he’ll remember it by three.

Happy second, third, forth, fifth, sixth, seventh, thirteenth, seventeenth, twentieth, etc.

He might never hear it from me again, but Happy Birthday kid, for now and forever.


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