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You are 21 months old! Holy cow! I am not sure I realized how much you would change between 18 months and 2 years – but here you are, growing and changing so fast I can barely keep up.
You talk. A lot. I know every parent thinks their kid is special, but when I read an article on temper tantrums that says kids under 2 1/2 “usually have a vocabulary of only about 50 words and can’t link more than two together at a time” I have to wonder about you telling me to “wait a second please” or to “come play pool please” at 21 months. Obviously you are not a “usually” kind of kid when it comes to talking. So while I don’t think you’re necessarily a genius, in some ways you are just like me. Sorry in advance for all the grief this will cause you.
Your dad came up to me about two weeks ago and said “Baby! I just had one of those moments that make being a parent worth all the hassle” and told me about how you and him were staring up at the sky watching an airplane and he was telling you all about planes and the sky. A few minutes the plane flew by you looked up at your daddy. “Go?” Your Daddy asked you where you wanted to go. You pointed to the sky, “Up der.” “Benjamin, how are we going to get all the way up there?” You stopped, like you were thinking hard, concentrating, then you threw your arms in the air and told your Daddy, “Jump!!”
You love watching TV and playing pool. If you had your way, that’s all you would do. You also love playing with blocks and puzzles, but those toys require fighting with the dog and Frankie likes to chew up anything he can get his hands on. When you wake up in the morning you ask for “TeeVee, mommy, go dawnsteers, UmiZoomiez?” (Team Umi Zoomi!) or “Bubblebuppies” (Bubble Guppies). If you never learn how to correctly say “Bubblebuppies” I’ll be OK with that, you say it better than they do anyways. I try to limit your TV, but of course we’ve been sick so it’s been a good way to keep you entertained while Mommy and Daddy lay on the couch moaning about how much they hurt.
Pool. It drives me absolutely crazy that you’re fervently and passionately attacking the pool table with your dirty fingers, rubbing a broken stick across the felt, pushing the balls across the table and occasionally across the room… but it makes you SO happy. It’s one of the few things that I just have to learn to get over as a parent. It’s really because I’m jealous, though. My Dad wouldn’t let us play pool until we could demonstrate a respect for the pool table – and here you are, not even 2 years old, holding one of my Dad’s broken cue sticks (so it’s only half a stick) asking me to shoot the black ball at you so you can put it into the triangle. You’ve very proud that you know it’s a triangle, you tell me every time you pick it up and set it on the table. “Tri-gale” you tell me with a smile. I at least console myself with the fact that we can work on our colors, and shapes, and words while you play. You know most basic billiards terminology (stick, table, pool, balls, cue, rack, triangle) and can pronounce most of the colors (even if you don’t tell me which is which). You know some balls are striped, but you won’t correctly identify any of them by color. You just repeat them back to me as I say them – orange, black, blue striped, black, and on and on.
When you want someone to take you with them, whether it be to pick you up or just take you with them upstairs or downstairs, you hold your arms out and say “Take-um.” It’s so cute! We think it originated from us telling one another “Here, take him for me for a second?” We never correct you. “Take-um, Mommy!”
Bedtime has been a challenge lately. You want to do so many things and you don’t want to stop and slow down. When we would put you in your crib you would jump up and down, holding the railing, until you launched yourself onto the edge and flipped over… which would have landed you on your head had I not been there to catch you. I found you a toddler bed for $35.00 on craigslist and immediately reserved it. As I was researching how to transition you (you’ll learn about how I obsessively research everything) it said not to jump to conclusions as soon as you tried to get out of the crib, most kids aren’t ready till they’re closer to 3 years old, blah blah blah. You were trying to pole vault! What was I supposed to do? So transition you did. It only took one failed attempt, then we both got the hang of it. You seem to like your “big boy bed.”
At bedtime we usually read a book – the bible storybook, or the farm animals book, or Green Eggs and Ham, or Mr. Brown. You love things that rhyme and/or involve animals. Sometimes, instead of reading (or after reading), you’ll ask me to sing. “Sing, Mommy?” and oh, son, I love it when you ask. I don’t have an angels voice, but I love that you still want me to sing to you. Those are sweet, precious moments with you.
But it’s tempered with reality. A few short minutes later when I get up to leave, you start screaming bloody murder. I have to rush out of your room and quickly shut the door so when you run to follow me all you get is the cold reality of a door you can’t open. You sob, then retreat back to bed for a quick cry before settling down. I hate leaving, but staying is even worse because you’d never sleep then! It’s cruel, but you need your nap and I need time to fold laundry and watch reruns of Bones. Trust me, it’s for the best.
You have temper tantrums – usually because we won’t give you soda, or let you watch 2 hours of TV, or you didn’t take a nap, or you’re tired, or you don’t want to go to bed, or get dressed. But they don’t last long, and I can usually distract you.
This is getting long, but here are a few more things I don’t want to forget:
“Go disway” while pointing in different directions, the way you call a slice of cheese “maccheese” and wail if you don’t get “peekles” from the fridge, “No Frankie No!” while swatting at both dogs, the way you say shout “kick!” when kicking the soccer ball, how much I enjoyed dancing with you and Daddy at Teresa and James’ wedding, jumping on the trampoline at cousin Noah’s birthday (and then again at Ms. Leslie’s house), how when I ask you to use your manners you look at me and say “manners? (pause) peas mommy peas” while making both hands into fists and rubbing them both across your tummy (which is only a little bit correct), the way you have been giving hugs back, the way you love to climb on my back and “run run” with me through the house, the way you help me knead dough,
the way that I love you even when you’re driving me crazy.
Thanks for being cute,