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I have a two year old.

And yes, it feels like I just woke up and suddenly “I have a two year old.”
I don’t want to sound too sentimental because I know it feels the same when you have a 5 year old or a 12 year old or an 18 year old (and perhaps even a 33 year old!) And after all, he is only 2.

But somehow, someway when I wasn’t looking we went from this:

To this:

And man it flew by.

As I peeked in on him during his nap on his birthday, memories of the day he was born came flooding back to me.

And then I thought about how little I knew on that day.

I had no idea how hard it would be or how truly exhausted I would become or how naive I had been about children before I had one of my own.  (Let’s just say people who don’t have children should never give child rearing advice of any kind!)

I had no idea how much I time I would spend looking at bugs or how excited I would get to see a cement truck or how many hours I would spend at the playground.

I had no idea how fast I could clean my house, how much I could do with only one hand (or my feet!) how much patience I needed and how fast my reflexes would become.

I had no idea what on earth I had done with all of my time before he was born or why I actually chose to stay up all night in my early twenties or how I even functioned then.

I had no idea how easy I had it at a restaurant, or on a car ride or at the grocery store.

I had no idea I would go days without a shower and how luxurious a bubble bath (alone) truly was.

But more than anything else, I truly had no idea how much joy and love and happiness one little tiny person could add to my life.

Happy Birthday to my sweet baby boy.

We’ve only just begun.