Mr.2 – my little charmer. Everyone who meets him describes him as such. One friend of mine is completely besotted and each time she sees him, wants to take him home with her. Another friend follows him around, cooing after him, “Oh you’re so adorable. Oh you are just…so..!!”
And that’s just it. Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reasons why he’s so charming. It’s just a way he goes about doing what he has to do.
He’s not the kind of kid you’d see in a Country Road catalogue, not typically cute. No – he has a certain wildness about him, with his big dark eyebrows, soft brown almond-shaped eyes and long eyelashes, perfect plump rosebud lips, and a mop of thick unruly wavy hair.
The kind of boy that looks most adorable when he’s been running around outside barefoot wearing just a nappy, with dirt all over his face and legs.
And often when he looks like that it’s because he’s been up to no good but my heart melts and I have to tell myself to actually discipline him.
Especially if tells me he’s just seen a grasspopper, or finds a soccer ball and says he wants to play socket. “No, it’s socket Mummy.” Who am I to argue?
The charm really comes from his manner – he’s just genuinely happy and content within himself. Good-natured and easy-going (most of the time). Bouncing along as he walks, literally with a spring in his step. Always giving people a wave – and seems to have taught himself it’s polite to say hello, to stop and say goodbye.
A giggly, cheeky boy, a little dancer. Loves cuddles, and skin, and being close. A favourite place is our bed – hiding from Daddy under the sheets, or cuddling up to us, or using it as a trampoline. Hard to say no.
Watching him this morning at the cafe. He’s figured out Monday morning is his milkshake morning, just me and him.
Holding onto my leg while I place our order, not out of fear or clinginess or shyness, but simply because he wants to be affectionate.
Seeing him go over to the toy area, going up to a girl older than him to say a friendly hello, only to be greeted with a look of disgust on her face. He’d interrupted a video she was watching on her Mum’s iPhone. How dare you. Mr.2 doesn’t react. No matter. Instead goes and finds a soft toy – a kitten – and brings it back to me.
The kitten tells me an entertaining story about a bee and a fly and a scary monster.
The milkshake arrives and before I know it, it’s gone, with only vanilla-flavoured milk on his chin and around the corners of his mouth to show for it. I kiss the juicy flesh of his cheeks and lips, kiss away the milk, because there’s no napkin.
Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if there was one.