I'm not sure if it is because he is the baby - the last one that I get to carry around, spend my days with while everyone else is at school, "baby". The thing is, I am having a hard time imagining him growing up. I probably should be sending him to preschool this coming September when he is 3, but we have decided to wait another year. You see, I love my days with him. I love having him here, playing beside me while I work, helping me in the kitchen, following me around the gardens, inspecting every little thing. I love when he says "mummy, let's snuggle", or "mummy, want to play lego?", and when he asks for a hug, a kiss. I love looking at him while he is busy eating his toast, focused on watching Dora, and I marvel at how little he still looks to me. He makes me smile every time a phrase comes out of his mouth that really should be coming out of someone much older, much wiser. But he is wise, much older than his 2 1/2 years. And he makes me smile - all of the time.