Wanderlust

Letters to the O

Twenty-Three Months

Would you be insulted if I confessed that this month I've seriously considered standing out in front of Walmart and seeing if I could trade you for something really cool, like a Wii? Because for the last few weeks you have given new meaning to the phrase "incredibly large pain in my ass."

When you first began to talk it was wonderful. Then we moved into the stage of cacophony, when I could locate anywhere in the house by the hum of the noise bubble that seemed to constantly surround you. Now. Now you are belligerent. And repetition and volume are your weapons. When on a walk recently we were passed by the wonder of all wonders, the god of the road, the one and only plow truck. For the remainder of the walk you forlornly screamed "Truck!! Truck!!" at me as if by the sheer force of your will you could make me conjure up the truck. It was somewhat flattering once I understood that you thought I was so totally awesome that I controlled every element of your world, including the snowplow. Hate to break it to you kid. I'm cool. But I'm not THAT cool.

Everything is a drama. That small piece of rice that is stuck to your matchbox car. An absolute disaster. You scream "Oh, no!" and began to run in circles, eventually falling to the ground in a puddle of boy. Your recent version of a tantrum has been to begin to walk backwards, away from whatever is offending you, until you stumble across something and it sends you sprawling to the ground. The reaction to this- outrage and utter amazement. How dare that wall be in your way!

Those people that go places with toddlers and always seem at their wits end, barely under control. That feeling? Totally normal. I've learned that if I have to drag you out of a store, completely limp and petulantly crying, I can simply explain-"He's two." "Ah, yes." I get nods of sympathy, averted eyes. Two. Yeah, that sucks.

You are still, however, enormously charming to strangers. And basically anyone else who isn't responsible for feeding, clothing and loving you. Just today we were at the grocery store and anticipating a tantrum when I removed you from the truck shaped shopping cart (and by the way, whoever thought those things up- brilliant!). So I carried you as quickly as I could to the counter and put you as close as possible to the cashier, who was a woman. You immediately stopped fussing, leaned over with your brightest smile and said "Hello! How are you?" A sucker for tits. Isn't that always the way?

Christmas is just beginning to make sense to you. Trees indoors? Massive amounts of twinkling lights and the constant presence of cookies? What's not to love about that? And we haven't even gotten to the presents part yet. All this past week it's snowed nearly every day and this very event has filled you with joy. If only because your nanny is so extraordinarily wonderful that she takes you out to make snowmen and drags you around out back in your sled.

I think this past month the most frustrating thing for me has been that your language has taken such leaps and bounds that you practically speak in full sentences. But you are ten times more likely to melt into a messy tantrum than to actually tell me what you want. If I had a dollar for every time your Dad or I said, through clenched teeth, "Please use your words!" we could probably go on a vacation far, far away from here and come back when you were like, I don't know- 5?

But I know I would miss the fun stuff. Like when you put on my sweater yourself and wore it all day around the house, letting it trail behind you. Or the way you grab my hand and drag me into living room to play, patting the floor and saying "Sit down, mama." You talk to Daddy for hours on the phone on his way home, launching into epilogues about your day. This is the good stuff and while I know you can't separate the two... god, wouldn't it be great if we could?

Posted by Kaz at December 22, 2007 4:10 PM