My B

B is such a beautiful soul. He melts my heart by the second.

He chooses our bedtime story each night, curled away in his Batman castle. His current favorites are "Boo Hoo Moo" and "Go, Train, Go." He loves to "boo hoo" with Hilda Mae Heifer, and it's priceless.

He prefers to read "Go, Train, Go" to me, instead of the other way around. I could seriously listen to him tell me that story all day long. He lays in bead, he clears his throat and smacks his lips a few times with each new page, before telling me about what is happening.

We say our prayers, and each time when we get to "and if I die" he looks at me with those big ol' brown saucers and says, "Momma, I gonna die?" and each time I take a deep breath and tell him, "Probably not until your an old, old man, but yes. Every living thing dies at some point." And he always accepts that as an appropriate answer, even though he continues to ask me each night.

Last February we quit swim lessons because he was terrified of the water. And now he's bobbing under water like nobodies business. When his swim instructor floats him around on his back, his grin is breathtaking.

J took the day off today to work on installing the hood over our range. He popped into swim lessons for a bit and while watching our little ray of sunshine said, "He's so happy. It makes me so sad."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I'm in work, missing it."

"But you're there when it really matters," I offered. "That's more than many dads. Besides, one of us has to pay the bills. And I'm eternally grateful that I am privileged to every moment of our kiddos. I don't take it for granted."

At that moment B stuck his little pointer finger out to J as he was returned safely to the steps of the pool by his instructor. He hasn't quite mastered a thumbs-up, so it's just a pointer finger.

B kisses my hands. He'll be running around like a crazy boy, and then whirl into my legs, grabbing my hand and covering it in kisses.

At night, when I kiss him one last good night kiss, he always takes my chin and turns my face to the side so he can smother my cheek in kisses.

He's not a fan of brushing his teeth. But he also doesn't put up much of a fight. As soon as the toothbrush hits his teeth he'll start boo-hooing a fake cry that cracks both of us up.

He's got dance moves like nobodies business. And he can climb higher than a monkey.

He's fearless.

B has a zest for life that most people can only every hope to have. And I truly hope he never loses that.

He loves to count. Anything and everything. 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 4, 13, 18, 24, 12. And although I typically, gently, help him count correctly, a part of me hopes he always counts this way because it makes us all smile.

He likes to color and paint everything blue. Just blue. Sometimes black if it's an option, but mostly blue. Though he does like to encourage his big sis to use lots of colors, even though he's a mono-color guy himself.

He never wears pants. After the first time he goes potty his pants are off for the day unless we have to go somewhere.

He likes to stand on top of the toilet seat and then pee.

He is always game to cuddling and giving hugs.

B loves animals and bugs. We could spend all day looking at books with bugs and animals. Or searching for different insects in the backyard.

He also loves pizza. Like, really loves pizza.

B's the sweetest baby I've ever known. And he's a month shy of 3, so not even really a baby anymore.

Before there was a B, I used to think I'd be a pretty lousy mother to a boy. Now that there is B, I know there could be no person quite like him, and that gender isn't even a factor in mothering. At least not for me.

I love my B. Through and through. And just like I tell him every single night, I am so glad God chose me to be his mommy. I am so thankful to have him. I'm the luckiest momma in the world.