So, my darling boy, you are actually almost 24 months old. I have sat me down several times to try and write to you and update where you are in your development, and how we’re doing as a family, but every time I have something that I MUST MUST tell you, you do something new cool and I think that I’ll wait until tomorrow to write.
Lest the awesomeness that is you at 23+ months is lost to the fading mists of time, I’m just going to whip off my hip boots and wade in here.
In case you cannot tell, you are totally cool. You are so cool that you have totally redefined my previous definitions of cool. You take after your daddy in that totally cool must-be-near-him-so-to-osmos-some-cool way.
Here are some things you can do:
You can say “two”. But you don’t just say “two”, you say it with this totally delightful lilt and almost over-pronounciation. I can actually hear the “w” in the word. “TUH-OOO!”
In assocation with the word “two”, you know that things can be counted. When asked how many of something there are, you will cheerfully tell us that there are TWO! but will point out three, or one. Up to the number five you are very clear with your pointing. We practice by counting fingers and Wallace’s toes. You have a farm book that your Nana gave you and last night I watched you solemnly point out the different animals to your daddy, always getting the right number and never counting the same animal twice.
Except for the piggies. You were fuzzy on the piggies. But there were six of them! You’re not up to six yet!
You know the letters “C” and “B”. You know them on sight and are particluarly enamored of the letter C. Which you announce to all and sundry with a delighted “AH SEE!”.
Sometimes we quiz you on your letters and numbers, and sometimes when you’re sick of us quizzing you you’ll just start randomly saying things. “How many, Wallace?” “AH SEEE!”. You know the answer isn’t a C, we know you know this, but you’re sick of our shit and you’re not a trained monkey and could we just shut the hell up with the “two” already?
The thing is, baby, you’re so smart and you boggle your dad and I with the stuff you know and the stuff you figure out. Less than three years ago you didn’t exist in any way, and now you stand in front of us and count and dance and grin and get sly and have opinions and tell us “TUH-OOO!” We know that somday far too soon you’re going to say “There are two of them, mah. Jeez. Can I get back to my game now?”, and that makes us a little sad. We’re so proud of the growing you do, but you do it so fast that our heads swim. The days go by so quickly and you learn so fast.
More that you can do:
You use your potty. You don’t just sort of use the potty, you TOTALLY use the potty. When you wake up in the morning and often before your bath or bed at night we ask you if you need to go. You usually say yes and then you go and sit down and pee on the potty. Then you take out the pot and empty it into the toilet. Then you rinse out the pot twice. Then you wash your hands. Then you put the pot back in the potty.
You actually enjoy peeing like a drunken man, standing with your hand on the wall behind your potty, but we’ve been trying to switch you to sitting down so that hopefully you won’t also poop like a drunken man, that is to say, on the floor. You’ve handled this switch with good nature and are feeling good about the potty in general. We have no horse in the race about when you become potty-trained, but you’re getting good at telling us that you’ve gone, so I’m considering doing some underpants-only weekends and seeing if we can take advantage of your potty interest. So often I understimate where you are in your development. I see you as such a baby**, and you’re so not anymore. You’re barrelling toward little boy as fast as you can go.
Speaking of TUH-OOO and barelling, I often feel that “toddler” is such a misnomer for you. There is nothing about you that toddles. You’ve always been ahead of the curve with your fine and gross motor skills, and you run and jump and skip and hop and dance and balance and leap and roll with the best of them. The tripping stopped at about 18 months and since then you’ve been on the go with rarely so much as a scraped knee. You’ve been working on climbing and your dad and I are starting to think about when to take down the side to your crib and get you into a toddler bed. Ideally I’d like to wait until you’re old enough to have opinions about a big-boy room and re-do your room to some older specifications. We’ll see. You may be vaulting over the side of the crib too soon to wait.
This year you’ve picked out that you want to be Superman for Halloween (THIS! THIS!) and so we’re thinking about getting you an outfit and one for the dog to match. Of course, almost-two-year-olds can be mighty fickle, so we’re going to wait until we’re a little closer to the holiday before letting you chose in case being Thomas the Tank Engine is suddenly the only way to go. You’d be a totally adorable Superman, though. The fact that you actually had an opinion was surprising and delightful.
Your Opinions:
Oh, my. You have an opinion about everything. You’re like your mom in that, bubs, I’m sorry to say.
You love movies. You hate talk radio. You love going in the car. You love going for a bike ride, which changed recently because you used to be terrified of going on the bike. You love playing with water. You hate having to keep the hose putting water in your pool. You love running with the dog. You hate it when he has a toy that you think is yours. You love asking for grapes to eat. You hate eating them. You love binkies still, and flout our “binkies are for bed” rule as often as possible.
You love clean diapers, but you hate having your diapers changed. You love to go for walks as long as we’ll carry you. You love kids of all shapes and sizes, especially L and G down the street.
You love it when we are a family all together, but you get jealous when we hold hands or cuddle in front of you. You will bark in outrage and march over and separate our hands. This cracks us up. You also get whiney if your dad or I are holding one of the babies on the block. At two, you know what you have and you know that you don’t want to share it. In the interest of not raising a Little Lord Fontleroy, we don’t give in and just reassure you that we can love you and others as well. It’s a hard lesson to learn.
Dad and I are ready to give you a brother or a sister, but I have to get through school first, so the boom won’t be lowered probably until you’re ready for kindergarten. At the same time, don’t get too comfortable! It may not be tomorrow, but you’re not going to be a singleton forever.
In conclusion:
Sweetheart, you’re right where you should be. You are painfully adorable and you can be a howling terror on wheels. You struggle with the things that you should struggle with, and yet are totally on top of the things you should be on top of. You give hugs and kisses and high-fives, but also can pitch a fit to wake the dead and, on occasion, can bite. Dang, boy. You’ve bitten me a total of four times ever but you can CHOMP. It’s a mixed compliment that you only seem to sink your fangs into mommy.
No matter what kind of day we’ve had, good or bad, we snuggle you before bed at night. We kiss you’re sweet baby neck that is still so little, and lay your long body down in the crib that you’re growing out of. We tell you we love you and that you’re perfect, and you really are.
I’ll follow up with some more individual stories soon, but please know that you’re just so dang cool and that mommy and daddy love you so much they can’t stand it.
A SEE!!
**You still have one chubby knee left. The left knee has one roll in it that is the last remnants of the rolly-poley baby you once were. I love that knee. THE CHUBBY KNEE!
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