Inch by Inch, Row by Row

How he grows:

My wee Irish Cricket.

More than one person volunteered to take him home with them, but he's mine, my little Cricket, who is suddenly not so little, but a very sturdy wee man, who is two and loves to sing. We recited a litany of all his likes the other day before bed. Cricket likes, in no particular order: mommy/mama hair, trucks, books, clean sheets, salmon, Cheerios, playing outside, shoveling snow, the sandbox, comfortable pants, his evening tea, his bear, Tintin (who is not really Tintin, but instead Tintin's dog, Milou), driving, dogs, dinosaurs, singing-singing-singing, play-doh, painting, being Mommy's sous-chef, cupcakes, the Gaelic League, parks, letters (or as Cricket would say, "A-B-Ceeeees!), baths and swimming, his cats and sidewalk chalk. That's our short list.

On days when I am my most sad, I am still filled with this incredible awe at my child, his beauty, his little wisdom, the way his mouth rounds out when discovers something new, and his incredible capacity to take it all in, to learn, to love...