Turning Two

Yes, this post is ridiculously late. Alex is almost 2 months past his 2nd birthday, but cut me some slack; I have a two year old.

Oh, dear lord, I have a two year old.

I'm not entirely sure how that happened. I mean, I understand the theory - the earth rotates and revolves, minutes pass, the minutes add up to hours, days, so on and so forth, but the actual reality of the fact that Alex is two just seems to escape me.

He's so much a big boy these days. Full sentences and independence and telling me "No!" and deciding what he wants to eat all by himself (and seriously, if you try to feed him something else you will be met with tears of woe and the refusal to allow even a molecule of the undesirable foodstuff to pass his lips). But at the same time, he's still so very much my baby. Sleepy time cuddles and singing lullabies and snuggling up to me in my chair just so he can touch me.

He's not so much with the potty training, using a fork & spoon or dressing himself (undressing is another matter, he's all over that one), but the other stuff, my mind boggles.

He talks, or more accurately, he never stops talking. Sentences and ideas and plans and make believe and the recounting of memories in such a sweet voice that it brings tears to my eyes sometimes. Tears sparked by the hope that the joy he finds in these days will stay with him, that he will someday remember the sweet lazy days that we spend, laughing and playing, chasing and tickling, reading and cuddling.

He loves the water - pools, splash pads, garden hoses, sinks, bathtubs - water in all its forms. If it's wet and nearby he will find his way to it. This has led to some trauma on his part, and by trauma I mean the way his world falls apart when I won't let him stop and play in some filthy, muddy, insect corpse laden puddle at the park after a good rain storm. He falls to the ground, hands over eyes, wailing to make sure the world knows how miserable his existence is whenever this happens.

He is ridiculously smart, tearing apart puzzles and games designed for the 3+ set, and blowing my mind at the way he absorbs everything around him. His vocabulary is that of a 6 year old, and it's always satisfying, in that proud mama bear way, whenever someone comments on it. I'm so proud of him that I could burst, and I do my best not to sound smug, but if I can't brag about him here, then where can I? I know that all of you will understand (all, let's see... 1... 2... 3? Yes, all 3 of you.) the desire to shout his accomplishments from the rooftops.

He is also easily frustrated, giving up when things don't come easily. He doesn't feed himself with a fork or spoon. Not because he doesn't understand the idea, but because it's hard and when he can't do something right away he resorts to his fall back plan: "You can do it, Mommy." I fight the impulse to step in and help right away, because as hard as it is to see him fail, I know that he will be better for learning to do things on his own. This is not to say that I don't help him when it's obvious he needs it, but I'm making myself let him struggle just a little, make a mess when he eats, pushing him to try.

He is awkward with other children, calling all of them "baby" (which he undoubtedly gets from me calling him "baby" and "my sweet baby" all the time; seriously, he was almost a year old before he realized what his name is because I use pet names with him all the time). He doesn't know how to interact with them, and does much better with adults. I fully believe this is my own fault (not in a guilty, I'm the worst mother ever kind of way, though) for not getting him out to more activities. I always feel awkward around new people and I've been letting that slow us down, keeping us from taking part in playgroups and the like. We'll be signing him up for a gymnastics program soon, a Mommy & Me type class at a place specializing in toddler gymnastics, and hopefully that will clear up any lingering awkwardness on both our parts.

His emotions seem to be spinning out of control lately. I'm told that this is normal, just a part of being two. Hopefully everyone is right because it's either that or we're living with the world's smallest bi-polar person. He bounces from highs to lows faster than you can blink, and just when you're breathing a sigh of relief about a crisis averted in the store over a balloon (solution: he may hold the balloon while we shop, but not take it home because it needs to live with it's Mommy and Daddy; and yes, he seriously believes that) he's trying to pitch himself headfirst out of the shopping cart in order to get to "the pink one!" (baby lotion), "cookies" (um, any kind of cookie), books or seriously kid, what the hell, a pork loin? I've taken to picking out an item from the dollar section at Target and letting him lovingly fondle it while we wander around, just so I have something new and shiny with which to distract him.

So, to recap:

Birth
3 lbs 7.7 ozs

16.25 inches

One Year
19 lbs, 9 ozs
28.25 inchesTwo Years
26 lbs, 4 ozs

34.75 inches

Crazy mood swings, terrible (and highly amusing) tantrums, enough talking that you could drown in the words, hugs and smiles and kisses and cuddles. It just keeps getting better.

Baby Talk

His voice is clearer every day, it seems. The sounds come more easily, more distinctly. Of all the things that mark the passage of time, the changes that herald that he is no longer "baby" but instead "little boy" this is the one that tugs my heart strings the strongest.

I hear him talk, and somewhere in the back of my mind I can clearly hear the high pitched, almost mewling sound of a newborn's cry. I marvel over the consonants and vowels, coming together in the most extraordinary way, bringing me closer to knowing him with every word he says.

I revel in it, each new word, every phrase. The joy of hearing him express his wants, his needs. The joy of hearing him express his joy. Every new word is repeated, questioned ("dat?"). He seems to taste them, saying them over and over, making sure he's got it right. I explain them all, sometimes resorting to online dictionaries to make sure I'm getting it right.

Sometimes they are jubilant. "Mickey!" when I'm wearing a shirt I got at Disney World, over the moon with excitement at seeing the mouse.

Sometimes they are mischievous. "Blankie," he tells me when I go into his room at night, pointing to the floor with an innocent look, as though the blanket somehow flew over the crib railing of its own accord.

Sometimes they are plaintive. "Daddy?" he asks at night, giving me sad eyes before laying his head on my shoulder when I tell him that Daddy's still at work.

All these words make my breath catch in my throat. I want to clutch him to me, somehow force him to remain small, to need me. Because with every word he knows just a little bit more of the world, he's that tiny bit more capable. My head knows that this is good; my heart remains utterly unconvinced.

Caught mid sentence, just like his mother.

Moments in Time

He toddles down the hall toward me, grinning, arms out wide. I walk to him until, with a not quite audible thud, he collides with my legs, wrapping his arms around my knees and burying his face for a hug. I scoop him up and toss him above me, reveling in the sound of his giggles.

*****

He sits quietly on the floor, engrossed in his toy truck. Turning it over and over in his small hands, examining each detail before cramming it into his mouth. He gives it a good gnawing and looks up at me as if to ask if I'd like a taste.

*****

"Tah, tah!" He points and I follow the line of that chubby finger to see a ball cap lying in the floor, dropped last night as we were getting ready for bed. I lower him to the ground and he rushes over, triumphantly grasping his find and trying to put it on. He struggles, but still grins. Moments later I am the proud wearer of one NY Yankees tah (hat) and he grins before snatching it off my head and clutching it to his chest with joy.

*****

We sit in the floor, me stacking blocks and him pushing them over. With each crash the laughter peals out, giddy with glee and excitement, and the "Boom!" he receives from me at the latest demolition pushes him over the edge. He falls backward, rolling from side to side as he shrieks his delight.

*****

He crawls away from me, giggling. I chase after, "I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna get you!" Into his room, onto the soft blue chenille rug that he loves to lie on. He drops to his hands and knees, crawling now as I give chase. Into the corner he goes, breathless with anticipation. "Gotcha!" And he flings himself down onto his back, giggles and grins washing over me as I claim my victory with a tickle.

*****

He sits in his high chair, spaghetti sauce in his hair. The tray is coated with smears of sauce and squished noodles. He reaches for my plate and I put a few more noodles in front of him. He picks one up in his right hand, poking at the dangling end with his left. Then, leaning over and keeping an eye on me, he drops the noodle over the side and onto the carpet, thus signaling an end to dinner.

*****

He cries out in the middle of the night, a bad dream or a lost binky disturbing his rest. I go to him and he cuddles into the curve of my arms, wrapping himself around me and drifting back to sleep without effort. I breathe in the smell of him and sit, absorbing the small shape of his body pressed to mine. He sighs and I lean in closer to kiss his cheek, listening to the soft sound of his breath and the faint squishy noise of a well loved pacifier. Reluctantly I stand, walking to his crib. I lay him down and he rolls onto his belly, sound asleep. Covering him with his blanket I gently stroke his hair and whisper my love.

I Haven't Forgotten About You, Internets

Wow... so, its been awhile since I posted, huh? I'd like to blame busy-ness, but truthfully, I think its because I'm lazy.

Don't get me wrong, we've been plenty busy. We've moved into our new house, gotten unpacked (mostly), installed a brand new dishwasher (complete with cutting the cabinets apart since there was no washer in the kitchen before), replaced the bathroom faucet and made plans for several more renovations.

Lets see, there's something that I'm forgetting... what was that?

Oh yeah! Alex is walking! I'm talking real, no shit, look ma no hands walking! He's so proud of himself. I came into the room today and he just made a beeline for me, all grins and giggles with his arms held out for me to pick him up. I've been spending the majority of my time (when I'm not at work, blah) down in the floor with him, wearing various objects (toy trucks, books, blocks, etc.) as hats and just reveling in the little boy-ness of him.

He is so much fun these days. He's into everything and I feel like I'm constantly saying "no touch", but he just laughs and pokes me in the nose, so I guess he's good with not being allowed to shove his finger into the X-Box.

His moods have been mercurial, one minute laughing and grinning, the next crying brokenheartedly because I've dared to move more than 3 feet away to refill his sippy cup. Then, back to giggles once the full cup is presented in all its glory.

The whiplash speed of his emotions is dizzying and (please don't judge) so funny! He freaks out because I'm standing on the linoleum, in the kitchen, but as soon as I move six inches to be on the carpet again he's fine. He goes to his bedroom and wants to shut the door, then he's mad because the door is shut! He holds his arms up to be held, but as soon as he's curled into my lap on the couch he wants DOWN! DOWN! NOW!

Its exhausting and exhilarating all at once. I hope for it to never change.