It's just the way of life.
And it's the same with you.
The closer you inch towards two the more independent and sassy you are. You have always blazed a trail. Tested the waters, so to speak.
Today, you got popped hard on your bare leg. I wanted to cry.
Daddy had just left and Bubby had walked next door to a friend's house. You and I were in the laundry room and the next thing I know I hear the front door shut. I glance down and you are gone. I run to the front door to find you climbing down the steps in the rain. Needless to say, I stopped breathing, bolted out the door, jerked you up, carried you inside under my arm, and then popped your leg.
I screamed on the inside.
Out loud, I calmly told you that you had scared Mommy and you could have been hurt. And how if you get hurt it breaks Mommy's heart. Then, we hugged and cried. Together.
Within seconds, you were down and playing like normal. I was back to laundry and straightening the house. I had my hands in dishwater when I felt tiny arms wrap around my legs and a kiss on the back of my knee. And the sweetest words I ever did hear...
'I wuv you, mama.'
There are always two sides to every coin, my angel.
The good and bad. Fun and boring. Loud and quiet. Happy and sad. Hungry and full. Kind and mean. Rough and gentle.
But in order to bask in the radiant warmth of the terrific, you have to allow the terrible to mold you and grow you. There is stretching and tearing and ripping and breaking in the terrible.
The terrible is scary and uncomfortable and upside down. But it is necessary if we are to catch a glimpse of the terrific.
And I happen to think you are terribly terrific, my angel.