He wore pink slippers--my 2-year-old, that is. You know, there are some battles I just don't fight. Today it was the shoes--his older sister's pink ballet slippers--and I called the truce. I refused to pick up my sword. Maybe the eyes of strangers were drawn to his feet. Maybe the aisles of Target were a bit more slippery. And maybe the pink feathers are now close to needing repair. But I didn't care.
He must have just recently received the memo. He was such a delightful young toddler--quick to obey and...well...near perfect. But now, he's 2; and it seems a page in his little life has turned.
He screams "no" in declaration of his opinion. He more frequently finds himself on the time-out step--lip sticking out, head tilting down, and huge puppy dog eyes insisting you relent.
But he still wants me to hold him.
He still buries his head on my shoulder; I am his safe place.
I see differently with the third child. I understand that this is only a season, and this too shall pass--more quickly than I bargained for. I get that he is trying sink into himself...at 2. I embrace that this is the next step--though I catch my eyes lingering on his little face, wanting not to forget.
Father, give me your vision for this little man. Raise him up to love and honor You.