My Baby Bear is a two year old bundle of energy.  He is very talkative and loves singing.  He is soft and snuggly and will curl up in my lap for frequent but short bursts of reassuring cuddles before racing off to something else to explore.

He runs and climbs and will play quietly with his toy cars for hours.  His favorite toy is a small road scraper his dad bought him when he took him out for a day.  He even sleeps with it.  The last time I asked, he said he wanted to be a fire truck when he grew up.

When he was a baby, he made all kinds of bear-like growls and grumbles.  His personality seemed to match that of a little bear cub.  He is sweet and cute, but tends to blunder through things rather than try to go around them.  He has had problems with biting in the past as well as pushing but it never seemed agressive.  He does not seem aware of his strength or that these actions actually cause pain to other people.

His favorite way to put himself to sleep use to be to snuggle close and rub someone's ear.  He would even ask for it in his cute toddler-speak, "Mommy, tan I hab you ea-aw?"  And he would rub it gently until he fell asleep.  If no one else's ear was available, he would rub his own. 

There is one thing that puzzles me about this little guy, and I know someday (probably very soon) it will end and I think I will miss it very much.  When he is tired, and particularly when he has been in trouble, he comes to me and asks in a questioning voice, "Mommy, do monkeys climb up the trees?"  I answer that "Yes, monkeys climb up the trees," and he seems able to pick himself up and get on with his day, forgetting the consequence or the nuisance he just endured.  It seems that all's right with the world so long as the monkeys climb up the trees.

He adores his "Ota" (my Little Mouse) and follows her everywhere.  He so much wants to be able to do all she can do, and there is no joy like that present when his sister takes time to play with him.  He also dearly loves his baby sister, whom he hugs and kisses each morning and says good morning to her.  When she fusses, he runs to me from wherever he is, dropping whatever he is doing to announce, "Oh no!  The baby crying!  The baby crying!"  He does not believe that precious bundle should have to spend one moment in unconsoled fussing, even if it was his rambunctious hug that started the fuss in the first place.

His name means "Crowned warrior."  It is my prayer that he will one day be able to focus all that energy and some of that recklessness for Christ.  I can't imagine anything standing in his way.