Twenty-Nine Months
The beginning of this past month was a rough one. You started out with a monumental case of diarrhea. And no matter how much we tried, we couldn't convince you we weren't purposefully trying to cause you distress. When Dad or I would put you up on the changing table for the 8th time that morning, you would cry and wail and beg-"Please, leave my butts alone!" Once, when I was describing why it was necessary to put ointment on your blistered butt, you leaned over to talk to your butt.
"It's otay, butt. Don't cry."
Early on this month you also got to spend a weekend at Grandma's while Daddy and I hiked in Zion. Even though you weren't feeling well, apparently you and Grandma got along fabulously and when she dropped you off, complete with an entire box full of new toys, you seemed to have been thoroughly spoiled and adored. You were quiet for the first hour in the car on the way home, as if you weren't sure exactly who we were. That didn't last long.
You've finally begun to expand your culinary horizons. We were at a restaurant with Ken and Holly when they were in town and you ate pizza. And then later that same day-ice cream! I discovered recently that you finally understood the value of bribery. At this point in our house, we have an exchange rate. One piece of meat= one cookie. 10 blueberries= one cookie.
Perhaps it's all this experimentation with food or your earlier brush with intestinal discomfort, but whatever the reason you seem to occasionally be constipated. Thinking that ointment is the cure for all things wrong with your butt, you beg me to apply some when you're uncomfortable. I've tried to describe to you that the problem is not located in your butt but more in the vicinity of your stomach and is more likely to be solved by fruit. So far, you're not buying it. You're also not buying into the myth that you should be using the toilet for any of these activities. You'll occasionally be motivated to pee or poop in the potty but for the most part, your interests are more closely aligned with forklifts. Recently, when I was changing you, you informed me you would never eat poop. Cool, glad to hear it. Fear of you being the kid in the back of the room in kindergarten eating his own feces- totally alleviated.
You've also learned how to open doors. You've been able to close them for some time, but not open them. This created its own problems and sometimes called for rescue operations when you'd shut yourself down in the basement or garage. But I greatly prefer that situation to the one we have now, where nothing is off limits. Your favorite door to manipulate is the back door and you are constantly trying to control the traffic flow of the dogs. They must be in, they must be out, they must sleep with you, they must be glad to have your fingers jabbed into their eyes. I think for the first time you're experimenting with the idea that you may be able to control not just your environment, but those two stupid hairballs who live here. Apparently the concept is a total high.
You and Dad recently started playing a little game. It goes something like this. Dad loves to hear you say "I''m not a little bear" because he thinks it is cute. So he devises ways to make you say it over and over. At first, you would scowl and protest and be truly insulted. "I not a bear. I Owen!" Towards the end of the month, you had resigned yourself. "Yeah. I'm a little bear." Can I go back to playing now?
We took you to see some monster trucks and a fireworks show recently as part of a local festival. And silly me, I totally forgot that you might hate things exploding in the sky in the dark and find them scary. You clung to me and whimpered and asked to go home at first. But as Dad and I began to talk about the pretty colors in the sky and name them, you agreed to at least take a look and show off your knowledge of shapes and colors. You didn't release your death grip though and I have to confess that despite the 30 pound lump attached to my chest, it was the best fireworks show I've ever seen. Just earlier in the day we had given you a buzz cut for the first time. And the way it made your mischievous smile and expressive eyes so prominent made me feel like you were someone else's two year old brat, another future menace to society. But as we sat under the night stars while colors splattered the sky and I held you close, I knew you were content to sit there, afraid, as long as you were anchored to me. Your father sat close by, tussling your hair and holding your hand and murmuring to you and it made me glad that we all had each other.