The sun was shining so we headed for the playground in town. We don’t live close to one so I don’t take him as often as I should – sometimes I think I’m stunting his growth in the world of climbing and jumping and taking risks, but I do what I can do.
Can I take a picture? I said, standing at the bottom of the big slide watching his hair standing static-straight; he chose this pose, utterly relaxed and looking just like me and his daddy at the same time. He’s 2 1/2 years old on Saturday. 2.5 years since he went from the bumps and wiggles and hiccups inside to the smiles and wiggles and yells and frowns outside.
The basics: he’s 37 1/2″ tall, about 32 pounds. He’s long-waisted like me, and has monkey arms inherited from both of us. During his second big-boy haircut a couple weeks ago I realized the last of his baby blond is almost gone. He was never a tow head like dad, but obviously didn’t get my curly black either, and now he’s growing into his own shade. And his grey/blue/hazel/brownish eyes are going definitely brown…hazel…brownish/hazel. We both have brown so anything else was a long shot. He’ll eat about anything you’ll give him (especially yogurt, Cuties, fruit snacks and cucumber slices) though he’s turned his nose up at curried chicken soup and chicken bacon artichoke pizza. Silly child.
He’s so sweet, and so ornery at the same time. In the span of 5 minutes he will politely say thank you as I hand him a cookie then smash said cookie and throw half across the table with a shriek of laughter. I still carry him downstairs from his crib almost every morning and if I bump the door on the way out he’ll say “sorry mommy” and pat my arm gently. Lately he throws his arms wide and flies my direction for LoveLoves (hugs) but refuses most mornings to kiss daddy goodbye as we leave. He has a bit of a temper.
He counts everything and wonders where the 10 went if there’s only 9 items. We count together to 50, but he often says “30-ten” instead of 40. He puts his alphabet puzzle together entirely on his own and points out the letters on iphone games (H for hippo-ottamus!) and signs around town, and when he accidentally makes a 4 in his mustard or a G while sketching on the iPad. He can run the iPad entirely on his own, which was never my intention but is fabulous when I just need 10 minutes to get something done. He sings and talks most of his waking hours. I have a bookcase full of board books he won’t read anymore because he wants to read the Big Books from the library instead – it was a sad day when we had to give back There’s an Alligator Under My Bed.
He LOOOOOOVES Sophia. And her big long legs. And her knees. And her big long elbows. His go-to is still Chuggington but we’ve been enjoying TinkerBell movies with picnic dinner in front of the couch (I looooove TinkerBell = ). I think we’re just about ready to try a movie at the theater.
He has no interest in potty training. He sits on the toilet every night before bed and I’ve tried bribing with train stickers, but nothing. I’ve tried explaining that he has diaper rash and it hurts so badly because he didn’t tell mommy his diaper was dirty and he nods in understanding, but… still doesn’t tell me. When he doesn’t want to be in bed at night or for a nap he often yells “Mommy, daddy, dog-dog!” and “I have a poopy diaper!” He seems to be giving up his daily nap. Arrrgh.
Even on the days when I’ve had to push him out the door, stomping and crying, because I’m not going to be late for work so he can watch another episode of Doc McStuffins, I can’t help being incredibly in love with this kid. His smile lights up the room. His crying can break my heart. When he reaches for my hand I have to remind myself that we, Matt and I, made this little miracle of a child together, and he’s our to keep.
Remind me of all of this when he’s 15, okay?