As of Thursday, we can no longer shock people in line at the grocery store by telling them we have three kids under 2.
This may be confusing for Devon, as his actual swimming-and-cake second birthday party was held a month ago when Mama, Papa, Uncle Sven, Aunt Laura, and the cousins were here.
So although we told him for a day last month that it was his birthday, on Thursday he had friends and family calling, texting, and messaging him birthday wishes, and several long distance songs. He even sang along: "A birf-dee, a birf-dee, a birf-dee..." He's shown no interest in holding up two fingers to show people he's "this many", but we're working on it.
POOF! About three seconds ago I was nursing him on a blanket in the Kentucky Arboretum and he was in a striped onesie with "Daddy's Home Run Hero" printed on it. Now he's finishing his breakfast in his booster and slyly looks at me before he picks up his sippy and chucks it onto the floor with the cheekiness of a frat boy crushing a beer can on his head. "No throwing sippies," he admonishes me soberly, reminding me of the rule he has just thrown to the wind. "NO throwing sippies!"
I will not characterize any year of any of my children's lives by a certain T-word that many people associate with being two. The past few weeks, however, have been interesting. The arrival of the first of his two-year-old molars seemed to coincide with the sudden departure of his omnivorous appetite. Even his beloved "gummy vitie", the multivitamin that he loved and asked for a dozen times a day now grosses him out because he licked it one day and it stuck to his finger.
His vocabulary is growing daily, as are his opinions. As a baby, I knew what he wanted because he only wanted three things. Now, he takes me by the hand and tugs me gently. "Where is clown-the-cars? Where did clown-the cars go? Shall we find it?" he asks, so we go to the closet and get down one of his favorite toy sets. He has his own names for everything, and Craig and I find it's easier to use them. It makes for some bizarre conversations.
Krista- Where's clown-the-cars?
Craig-Here's clown-the-cars car. Where's clown-the-cars clown?
We laughed at the way he asked to go outside because it sounded like he was asking for "some cider", so now he says it that way every time because he enjoys getting the laugh: "I want some si-daaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
We swim in the pool together daily. He's in a flotation suit filled with enough foam to rescue a beached orca. I'm shedding my coverup and running for the water because I'm wearing the same old suit I bought a month before I found out I was pregnant with him.
I try to loosen his grip around my neck and make him more comfortable in the water. "Mommy hug you!" he gasps, reaching for me. "I want huggin' The Mommy!"
Devon still loves all kinds of balls, but his second favorite toy is anything with wheels. He tries to sing along with the "myoo-cuss" we play for him:
"Wheels. Round and Round. Round and Round. Wheels..."
Devon doesn't always exercise the best judgement around his sisters, but he loves them and is always glad to see them. Right now a favorite game is grabbing whatever toy they have when he decides he wants it. Sharing will come later, I suppose, and it'll be a valuable tool for survival in a family with three kids born sixteen months apart. For right now, Devon enjoys being the biggest, strongest, and most coordinated.
As the big brother, he's gotta have a few perks. "The sissies!" he says when I come get him up from his nap. "I want huggin' the sissies!" Lucky girls. They get about twenty hugs a day from him.
My little boy is too old for a diaper bag and a rear-facing car seat. He takes a sippy and a snack to the child care in his Thomas backpack. He chatters on and on about his friends and chases Ally kitty when I'm not looking. I'm hoping that his recent quirks are just him exploring the newness of having choices.
"I want milk sippy!" he says when I show him a water sippy, so I go to the fridge to hand him a milk sippy.
"No," he says dismissively. "I want water sippy!" I reach for the water sippy I set on the counter a moment ago.
"No," he sniffs with a princely hand wave. "I want milk sippy."
We've given up on juice for the time being. Imagine the headaches if he had THREE choices!
No comments:
Post a Comment