Monday, October 01, 2007

Twenty-Five Months: My Letter to Little Man

Your Nonnie told me when you were very little that when your dad was a baby, she found herself saying at every single age "this is the best age ever." And then your dad would get a little older and she'd say "no, this is the best age ever." At the time I kind of smiled at her and asked her if she'd mind passing me the antibacterial gel so I could get the poop off my hands. Also, I might have been asleep with my eyes open, because you were really little and acted like the fate of the world rested on you not going to sleep.



Don't tell your Nonnie I ever said this, because if you do, I'll claim you're some crazy person I've never met before, but the fact is, she was right. The year between one and two, was really fantastic. You got to be really funny and you'd run into stuff and there were the really fantastic tantrums and meltdowns, which torched the top layers of skin on my face, revealing younger, smoother skin.

Then last month, you decided to turn two. You still haven't exactly explained why you chose to do so, but I've decided to let that one go. And I have to say, two is even better than one. Because during the past month, you've decided that two is really too old to be having meltdowns over every tiny little thing. And you've revealed this fantastic new side to you, one that tells us things that make tears spring to my eyes right now just thinking about it, because you're so funny, that I always end up laughing to the point of tears, so that all I have to do is think of you, and my eyes begin to sting with tears of laughter. You're pretty powerful, eh?



A couple of weeks ago, your crib was recalled because you have been born in a time where companies seem to put out shoddy products just so they can be sold for cheap, and then once a few consumers die then they say "our bad! Whoopsie-daisy!" Besides the fact that we had to come to the realization that for the past two years, you'd been sleeping in a potential death trap, there was the just as frightening realization that we were going to have to move you out of your crib. We'd tried once before, an incident I like to call the week I wished carbon monoxide poisoning would find me so that I could get some sleep. For about six months now, you have had this beautiful little boy's room, painted to match your bedding, with a cute toddler bed, a chalkboard on an easel and a little table with a wooden train on it. It's a room that's so cute, I would like to sleep in it.



But you? You have refused to sleep in that cute room I slaved for hours painting. You love your crib the way I love chocolate. It's your little cage, your safe place and its walls keep you safe from the dangers of the world. And not once has it ever occured to you to try to escape its confines, because why would anyone want to leave their crib? But we had no choice this time, so I dismantled the crib and dragged your toddler bed into your baby room.

When I put you down for your first nap in it, I was worried, but you amazed me and showed that you are now a big boy, and took to that toddler bed like a fish in water. You slept so long, that your father and I fought over who would get to go upstairs and wake you up in your new big bed. The best part of your toddler bed is that it hasn't even occured to you that you can get in and out of it by yourself unless we're in the room. When I walk in the morning to get you, you smile at me and slide down the side and applaud yourself, but the thought of escaping, well, that's craziness. Rebelling is the sport of the silly and bored, you reckon.



On Saturday morning, I woke up at 8:40 and I realized that we hadn't heard you calling us. I ran up the stairs and there you were, kneeling in your bed, looking out your bedroom window. When I walked in, you simply said "Hi Mama, I see a boat, over here." Seriously? You rock something really, really fierce and if you keep making my heart explode with this much happiness, I'm afraid that I'll become one of those over the top happy people who shriek all the time and talk about rainbows and butterflies to terrified strangers.



You've tested my creativity like no one else this past month. Your favorite way to keep me on my toes is to lead me into rousing renditions of "Old Macdonald had a farm" while we drive to school, but when we get to the "and on this farm he had a..." part, you like to throw in random things like "a car," (sometimes it's a big blue car, so that you can make sure that I know the unique noises different colored vehicles make) "a tree" (which I've interpreted as "swish, swish" because I reckon that's what a tree swayi in the wind), and my all time favorite "green grass," which actually stumped me for a second and as beads of sweat appeared on my forehead, I decided that grass would go "a grow, grow here and a grow, grow there." This seemed to satisfy you greately, and I was glad to know my performance pleased the prince that day.

Your vocabulary constantly seems to add new words to it and you're constantly telling me one thing or another. You've also learned to express your discontent in a more gentle tone than your previous screaming. The other day, as I was trying to remove your pajama top to get you dressed for school, you sighed and said "no, Mama, no touch shirt." Which is such a sweet request, much better than the flailing and screaming I'm used to, that for a second, I actually considered taking you to school in your pajamas, because shouldn't awesome behavior like that be rewarded? The other day, as I was showering you with kisses, you also said to me "no kisses, Mama." I'm guessing you're becoming a little bit of the kiss nazi.



You're obsessed with dinosaurs, which I guess is a rite of passage for boys the way Disney princesses are with girls. A couple of weeks ago, Sesame Street had an episode where Elmo wanted a pet dinosaur. When I plopped you down on our bed with your breakfast that morning and put on the episode, your head almost exploded. Seriously? Your two favorite things in the world? Combined? Into one TV show? This must be what heaven's like, except probably with a better breakfast than dry Trix cereal.

You've also become a bit of a vegetarian this past month. You don't eat very much, which is something many parents would worry about, but I was the same way as you and considering the little bit of food you do eat is very healthy, I figure that I turned out fine, and so will you. When you do grace us with your presence for dinner, I have to not tell you there is chicken on your plate, or you'll get this look of horror and say "No! No Old Macdonald had a chicken!" And promptly hand me the offensive pieces of white meat. Your diet has consisted mainly of grapes, strawberries, gallons of milk, yogurt, pasta, bread and dry cereal this month. You will eat a cut up meatball though, which luckily I make mine out of ground turkey, so you're getting some lean protein in you.



You've been working on learning your letters this month, and there are so many that you recognize already, that I know you'll have the alphabet identified in no time. You have an alphabet magnet toy on the fridge that was a gift for your second birthday and you'll spend much time grabbing letters that we call out and sticking them on the music making piece. I'm always amazed at how smart you are and how quickly you learn things. I'm hoping that in a few months, you can teach me the trick to solving those stupid Sudoku puzzles. And maybe you can help me get my first bingo on Scrabulous on Facebook, because I'm getting my butt whipped and could really use you on my team. I can't wait for you to teach me things, like quantum physics and performing appendectomies. In return, I'll teach you fun things like the lyrics to every Justin Timberlake song and how to get the dog to attack his own tail.

video

I love you my Little Man,

Mama.

14 comments:

Emma in Canada said...

That picture of him with the pouty lips? He so looks like you.

And Saoirse? No interest in the alphabet. None at all. That kid is so going to be in trouble at playschool.

Morgan Leigh said...

my kid? doesn't like the alphabet, but loves animals, so i have to match animals with the alphabet.

i think that a kids job is to stretch the parent's brain.

sweet letter! :-)

Harlee said...

What a great post, & what a gorgeous little boy you have!!

bmxmom said...

He is adorable :)

Haphazardkat said...

OK. seriously? You need to stop making me cry at work!!
I loved this post. I have a little boy and walked through memory lane in my head reading about your baby. :)

ChrisB said...

He is seriously cute; those are lovely photos.

AnGlOpHiLe FoOtBaLl FaNaTiC said...

Still don't believe the kid speaks, cause the other day when I tried to question, he STILL wouldn't answer. What's up with that, Little Man? Do I smell like Oscar the Grouch in addition to being a grouchy bitch?? And, I've yet to beat you in Scrabulous, so what's that say about me? And, the three way we've got going with Blue Momma, I have had all vowels for four turns in a row. I've got 39 points. She had 179. I'm so screwed here.

Ms. Porter said...

cute cute cute

Myanderings said...

I love the not eating chicken thing. We go to a VietNamese restaurant here that knows my grandson (7 yrs) doesn't eat chicken. He will, however, scarf up the pterodactyl...especially fond of the pterodactyl sate.

jesse said...

I love your monthly letters and the pictures. OMG can he be any cuter.

Blue Momma said...

I can't believe AAF is telling people about our three way. That sort of thing is supposed to be private.

Little man is too cute for his own good. You are going to have throngs of girls at your door in a few years. Probably some boys too!

If Scrabulous was timed? I'd lose every game. But it's not! hehe

. . . Dallas Meow . . . . >^^< . . . said...

isn't it wonderful :)

Slick said...

Awwww too sweet girl, you're just too sweet.

Little Man sounds and looks like a charming young fella.

Hey, about those meatballs....

M said...

He's just amazing. But you knew that. And gorgeous too. Obviously takes after his mother. I'd like to hate the both of you but I'm afraid I adore you. Like breadproducts! WEEEE!