It's true. He's two.
This weekend we marked John's birthday and threw ourselves into celebrating the boy whose second year has brought such inexpressible joy to our lives.
There was a cake, there was a party, there were bright piles of presents. There were grandparents and a table-full of friends. There were many rounds of 'happy birthday' and many minutes spent showing him how to blow. There was brilliant sunshine and a picnic lunch and a shiny green tractor with fresh mud on its wheels. There was a bike and books and smiles and so, so much sweetness that it was almost too much to take.
And in the midst of it all there was John.
This unflappable little boy who has a capacity for contentment that I have never quite managed to capture. This boy who could spend all his days happily digging in the mud and all his evenings silently piecing together jigsaw puzzles.
This little person who can sit quite still in intense concentration one minute and run wild with unleashed freedom in his bones the next; who sings himself to sleep in the blackness of his bedroom and hums happily to himself as he munches his cereal in the morning.
His world is full of jumbled songs and inarticulate chatter, trains and farmers, mummy and daddy, hello's and byebye's.
His smiles are full of mischief, exuberance, pure joy and the greatest tenderness that I've ever seen.
And his contentment is contageous. For he makes me smile many, many times a day. And the days that I spend quietly in his presence and at his pace, are the happiest days that I've ever known.