Hugh is fully 2 these days. Meaning everything has to be done by himself. (Or as Hugh calls it: “By ItSELF!” I don’t bother to correct him, because frankly he’s acting like an It.)

I will push both of these babies By ItSelf.

He wants it the way he wants it. Which means he doesn’t want a bath. Doesn’t want to brush his teeth. Doesn’t want to eat peas. Doesn’t want to get dressed. Doesn’t want you to walk down the stairs (this is a weird one, I know. He cries and screams, “go back upstairs!” to whomever he catches walking down).

On the other hand, he does want to many things, such as: Play chase. Watch Thomas. Go to train store. Eat popsicle (cutely mispronounced: pop-si-ick-cle). Make tent. Throw blocks. Pour water. Push mower. Climb table.

It’s a trying, energizing time to be a parent. I keep wondering what he’d be like if we lived like Little House on the Prairie. Would he be more focused, less resistant, a healthier eater, sifting flour, milking cows, more of mama’s little helper?

But we don’t live on the prairie. We live in North Charleston, in the USA, where we are concerned about BPA-free bottles and eat gourmet flavored cupcakes and watch TV on flat screens and ride bikes with cup holders and have too many bath toys.

So I relish the quiet snuggle times (usually while watching Thomas) and try to remember that when he grows out out of 2 into something older and perhaps easier, I’ll miss the chubby baby thighs and the little voice that asks me to kiss his boo-boos.