Our son, D, is 23 months old.
Actually, he’s one year, 11 months, three weeks, and one day old.
But he’s still ONE.
I get laughed at a lot lately, when I say things like, “But he’s only ONE!” or “My one-year-old …” People give me funny looks and say, “He’s two!” and I’m all, “No, he’s not two, he’s ONNNNNEEE!”
You could say I’m in denial about his upcoming second birthday on June 6. I am, I know.
It’s just that he’s still my baby. He’s still one! Two sounds so much older! Up until a week and a half ago, he’d never even had a haircut. I mean, clearly, he is one.
I wasn’t this weird when he turned one, because one still sounded young. But two! Two is a different story. Two is right before three, and everyone knows three-year-olds look like six-year-olds sometimes.
So right up until 12:01 a.m. on June 6, I will be calling him my one-year-old. You can laugh all you want, but he is still one. For now.