Two.

Two short years. Seven hundred long nights. As many early mornings. A million tears. Two million smiles. The odd tantrum. A vocabulary that grows by the day. One grown-up sister. One grown-up brother. One baby brother. More cooking than ever before. Lots of washing. A shrinking house. Two hundred books, some worn out, some with pages torn out, two or three of which are read every day. Fifty soft toys (which is about forty-nine too many) strewn along cupboard tops. Steps that sounds like elephants in the morning. A voice that shrieks like a demon, laughs like a kookaburra and coos like a dove. A smile to melt a heart of ice.

And sixteen teeth. Happy birthday William.