2 Months from 2

Ah, my son is nearly two. He speaks to me in sentences. He tells me what he wants and loves. He totally trusts me. He cracks himself up. He loves/hates all messy and noisy things. He tells me, "Mama has big breasties." He knows how to ask nicely. He counts 1 2 6 7 8 9 10 11. He narrates the scene of us driving to Central Market, "Papa drive left side. Mama sit ride side. Bowie sit carseat. Bowie want to drive BIG car on street in left seat." Bowie says, "Bowie sad." He still gives kisses. He "likes movie and pizza with Nonnie and Gramps." He kicks a football pretty well. He goes fast on the tricycle. And can steer pretty well, too. He loves Tuba Dog. He wants to love the standoffish cat of ours, Bovine. He can't ever get his fill of "raspberries blackberries, blueberries, strawberries." If you have been read the book daily, Jamberry over and over again, reciting the book in the car during traffic for the past 22 months, you know the source of his obsession. He strokes his sheepie, the lambskin I slept on for two months before he was due and that he has slept on everynight night since the night he was born.

As I write, I look over my left shoulder and see the corner of our room where the birthing tub was. I am in the same place where my mom stood when Bowie was born, on her birthday. The same lamp that was the only light except the mag light our midwife turned on discreetly and turned off quickly is on, the only light of the room except the glow from monitor. Through the baby monitor I am lulled by the synthetic grasshopper song Bowie has heard every night of his life, except for the many, many nights we've spent in our tent hearing the sound of grasshoppers, dog tags, armadillo digging. Oh my, I am flooded with the bounty of memories for the best days of my life. Chris sleeps heavily and noisily behind me. He is everything that makes this life possible for us. He makes our world light and easy. He will soon be Bowie's favored parent, I suspect.

These photos were taken last night about an hour before sunset. The night before was loud with thunder and rain. The windows shook. The glass of a photoframe broke when it fell from the wall of my friend, Michele. Bowie happily recited "Boom Boom Boom, Mr Brown makes thunder" through the whole morning. But if he was away from my side when a big one clapped, he ran to me quickly. After being kept inside all day, I let him go out into the muddy, filthy yard and exlpore. He didn't get nearly as dirty as I expected.