I'm never gonna set you free

I love Grady, I really do. He's so funny, and his laugh is so perfect, and he is sweet and cute and you can't help but want to kiss his fat little belly. Especially when he lifts his shirt to you and says, "button?" with a glint in his eye because he knows you can't resist him.

So I can overlook the fact that he's stopped napping unless we happen to be driving in the car. He even asked to go for a ride in the car earlier this week just so he could sleep. And I can ignore the fact that he could sit in his own poop for hours--it just means I have to be extra vigilant and keep my nose peeled (or something like that). And I can deal with the fact that he wants to walk everywhere now, even if it takes twice as long and he eventually starts doing jelly legs and making me trip all over myself in public.

For all the little tough bits, I'm really enjoying this age. He'll be 22 months on Saturday, which frees me to say he's almost two so people don't have to puzzle out the months anymore. Grady finds excitement in everything. He loves to look and touch and ask, he's curious and interested and still small enough for me to overpower should he throw a tantrum. I miss the newborn stuff sometimes, sure, but when it's all said and done I think I'll miss this age the most. It's such a short and special time. I'm trying to savor this not quite two-ness--it will be gone before we know it.