Two and a half is a funny age. The kind of funny that watches a child enjoy his popsicle buck naked, while totally overlooking everything else. It's an age where sticky hands are constantly pulling at my pantlegs, and dirty faces lean in for some lovins'.
Two and a half is the age of independence. Of half-coherent words that are somehow understood, cherished, and often borderline profane. It's an age where there is always some mysterious, foreign object smashed into hair. A time when dirt is a trophy; it's evidence of a hard day at play, and substance of the heart that is so full of life.
Take a good look, because straight from the bath is the only interval in time where he looks clean.
Two and a half years reminds me that life is only worth living if you are full of joy and curiosity, and seek the treasure life has to offer.
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