What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails, And puppy-dogs’ tails;
Our two year old boy is pretty fearless, he jumps off things, onto things and at things with little regard for the consequences. He dive bombs into his cot head first. I often receive reports from Nursery or Grandparents that he “launched” himself at something or someone and that is why he has this bruise or that plaster. He runs or skips everywhere he goes, there is nothing he loves more than a big open outdoor space like our local park. Holding his little hand tightly, through the car park and then saying “You can go now“, is like setting a wild animal free from captivity. He will just run and run. He’ll stamp in all the puddles, roly-poly down all the hills and just sit in the grass and the mud and grin.
The child is wild. I bloody love it.
He’s always a mess, god love him. Paint or food or snot smeared on his cheeks or t-shirts, mud in his fingernails. He dances, he just dances and doesn’t have any inhibitions holding him back. He makes up little songs about people or his toys and his rendition of ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ is terribly serious and well rehearsed.
He sucks his thumb and eats his bogeys. I couldn’t care less.
He’s still sleeping in a cot and wearing a nappy. I’m not worried, we’re not in a rush.
He is fiercely independent or at least he desperately wants to be. He will carry his own bag, he wants to “run on the path” without holding your hand. He’ll lose his shit when he can’t do something by himself and has to be coerced into asking for help.
He loves. He loves hard. If he loves you, you are in no doubt. You will be told several times a day, you will be kissed savagely. You will be asked to play or read. You will be the victim of his jealously when you turn your attention elsewhere.
You are incredibly lucky.
This is what our little boy is made of.