Wanderlust

Letters to the O

Twenty-seven Months

This month you demonstrated that all those bad habits your Dad and I indulged in around you when you were small made an impression. Yeah, you were totally listening and taking notes. I've begun taking you back to the library and one day, you were VERY reluctant to leave. When I forced the issue you decided to honor my delicate sensibilities with a tantrum in the middle of the library lobby. Back at home, your mood remained cloudy. I sat you up on the counter and we baked some cookies. You were ready for a taste long before the batter was prepared and when I encouraged patience, you clenched your fists.

"God damn it, mama!" You yelled, red faced.

You've been very mischievous the last few weeks and one of your favorite activities is to terrorize the dogs. You use your wooden block cart or metal dump truck as a battering ram and chase them around the house, giggling at their panic. To be fair though, you're equally delighted when Miles agrees to chase you and usually you're giggling so hard you can't find the coordination to run so you crumple into a little ball, hiding your face from the formidable licking.

I was delighted when you started eating cheese this week. I know that sounds strange, because you have been eating cheese since you could chew. But let's be clear about this. Cheese previously was only acceptable if it was melted and sandwiched between two slices of bread slathered with butter and browned. Simply no other means of eating cheese in the toddler world apparently. But just recently you discovered that a cold slice of American or Cheddar. Not so bad. Two or three. Even better.

You've also gone into that terrible stage- the one I really have no patience for.
"What's that?" "What's that, mama?"
It doesn't matter how many times you attempt to answer this question as an adult. It's like chasing your own tail. It always comes back around. Sometimes I answer you with "What do you think that is, Owen?" And you stare at me blankly. Wow. This woman really doesn't get it. This is her job. Human dictionary. Get used to it, mama.

Bedtime has suddenly become so complicated. There must be adherence to the routine. Three books, night light on, animals tucked in, and sippy cup in hand with one FRESH ice cube floating in it. Some kids cuddle animals or have favorite blankies that they tow around with them for years. But you- you're a strange one. Your constant companion is a sippy cup. You feel naked without one. And certainly there is no question that you CAN NOT sleep without one by your side, one hand clutched around it's cool plastic all night long.

We also tried the potty training thing earlier this month. While you didn't object much and seemed pretty excited at first, interest quickly waned. One day after Dad came home from work we encouraged you to sit down for awhile and give the new Owen sized potty a try. You did, but quickly decided it was not a productive use of your time.

"Not working, mama." You commented, fidgeting with your penis. "Need a fresh diaper."

When you can actually ask for your own diaper, it seems to me that you ought to be rational enough to see the advantages of not pooping your own pants. But I guess I live in a different world. You know, the one that makes sense most of the time.

Posted by Kaz at April 20, 2008 12:29 PM