feetie pajamas- thankful

\

'\

There are few things more adorable than a two-year-old in feeties. Very few. I love two. Love it. I love the crazy, the naughty, the bossy, the naughty, the snuggles, the bad words (said by both parties), the kisses, the adoration of grocery store balloons. I love that he simply must shout, "Uh-oh!" at the top of his lungs several times a day and that he almost loses it if the grocery store is out of car carts. I love that he never, ever returns from anywhere with both shoes firmly on our feet. I love how he runs after his brother and insists on doing every single thing that he gets to do. I love the sly little grin he gives me when I've told him no and he's decided to do it anyway, because he know I'll still love him. I love that any sort of furry house pet sends him into paroxysms of joy and that his best friend is his blankie. I love the happy dance he does when about to receive a treat, love that he dances to any and all music, he just can't help himself. I love the frantic shouting scramble to the door when Daddy comes homes. Love to find a knot of tickling boys on the carpet. I love when he sneaks out of the bath and runs around the house naked, yelling and waving his foam sword until he is captured and wrestled into his favorite feetie jammies so that he can be read the six or seven stories he simply must have if he is expected to sleep at all. I love how he kicks the wall every once in a while just to remind us that he's in there. As we could ever forget.