Bronwyn is 2 years, 2 months, 2 weeks, and 2 days old. I guess you can't get any more "two" than this.

Gabriel was a tough baby. The things that I'd expected to be easy weren't (like napping), and the things that I'd expected would be difficult? Well, they were. Looking back, I didn't even realize that his mobility (crawling by 6 months, up stairs by 7 months, etc.) and speech (definite words by 10 months; my friends would tell you he was trying to speak even earlier) developed quickly, but I know now that he did it all fast--and I also know why. This boy takes after me in many ways, but the first and foremost similarity lies in his overwhelming opinions. My dear son has opinions and feelings about absolutely everything, and he feels very strongly about them. By 17 months he was telling me how he wanted his sandwich cut, if his sock felt "funny," whether or not he approved of dinner, that his pillow was placed on the bed improperly, and more. By 17 months he'd also been disciplined more times than I care to recount.

So what was so "terrible" about two, I wondered? As far as Gabriel is concerned, the going's been rough since he learned to slide across a room on his tummy!

Perhaps this is why God saw fit to send Bronwyn along. She is my "textbook" baby in every way, beginning with a 12-hour labor. (As opposed to 51 hours with Gabriel and... well... 3+ days with Jackson.) As a newborn, Bronwyn actually slept. By 4 months she was sleeping every night from 7pm to 7am, with one very predictable feeding at 2am. Crawling at 8 months, walking at 14.

And then she turned two. And while she is still a milder personality than her counterpart older brother, something dramatic happened over the summer months. It was as though she developed a sin-nature overnight. (Don't worry, I know she was really born with it.)

Now I know what's so terrible about two.

But I must confess that, while an understanding of the phrase "Terrible Two's" is quickly dawning, I still love this age. It is an age of discovery, of overnight growth. One day she wasn't even asking about the out-of-doors and the next she was telling me of the seasons. It isn't always convenient to have your two-year-old telling you that she doesn't want to wear that pair of pants, but I sure do love seeing her likes and dislikes emerging.

She may have been easier to manage a year ago, but I also didn't know that purple is her favorite color (nevermind that she still can't call it by its name properly) or that she would rather eat a raisin bran muffin than a PB&J sandwich. She couldn't put her shoes on, she couldn't pick out her own hair barrettes, she couldn't tell me what it was she felt she was coloring as she scribbled violently across a page.

Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, MO-OM! I need a tiiii-ssue.

Dei-Dei (her name for Gabriel), don't touch my baby Hannah!

NO! I don' like that bite.

Jack is takin' my 'troller! It's MINE! MINE! MINE!

There is a time and purpose for every season. And I love my girl in each one!

Mom, I wanna 'nuggle with you.

Sing me a song?

P'ay for my boo-boo, Mom.

Dei-Dei is my f'end.