One and Two and Three.

First there was just one.  He was one, he was only, and he was ours.  He was perfection, and we spoiled him with abandon.

Then there were two.  There was one and there was two, separate but equal in the eyes of the house.  Everything was a division -- Mom and Dad, Big and Little.  One-to-one defense, if you will. A constant attempt to be fair, and spoil them equally.

Now there are three.  Where there was once a competition between one and two, now I sit here on the sofa next to our tiny three.  One and two climb the stairs, engrossed in animated discussion, off on an adventure that will doubtless end in one bedroom completely destroyed.  But there are bad guys to be vanquished and heroes to be made.

Three is tiny and helpless.  Three has his mother.  One and two seem to understand this.  They have each other.  And they break my heart with the sweetness of it.