Recently, my youngest turned two. I’m fully aware that some deem them to be the “terrible two’s” but I’m convinced they’ve got it all wrong. Two is a magical age, with one foot still stuck in babyhood and the other moving forward into childhood. My oldest was already a big brother before he turned two and I regret viewing him as older than he really was. When my second son was two, I then had two toddlers, meaning my attention was divided and I was, consequently, very scatterbrained and tired. Now with our third born, I’ve decided to enjoy it, not wish the hardest parts of it away nor lament the end of a sweet season.