Law Students

23 months, almost

You're going to be two soon! You're not really a baby anymore. When you were a newborn, we had to guess what was wrong when you cried. When you were one, we could usually figure it out, but we could pretend we didn't understand when you asked for a sip of Daddy's beer. Now you can tell us what's wrong, and we have to argue about it.

You tell us all sorts of things. And you've started ordering us around, too. "Mommy sit on that!" "Daddy turn off nightlight!" You notice emotions, getting upset when you hear someone crying or when someone is scared in one of your books. On your turtle drawing pad, you like to point to the turtle and grin and announce, "This guy, happy." Then you point to the worm and frown and say, "This guy, sad." I'm not sure why you think the worm looks sad, but I'm glad you empathize.

It's hard for me to believe that a year ago you couldn't walk. Now I can barely keep up with you. You're always off running somewhere, and you love to be chased. You haven't mastered jumping yet, but you're working on it.

You've acquired quite a vocabulary. You know your alphabet, your numbers up to 12, your shapes and colors (except for green and red, which you mix up). You also know quite a few song lyrics, which I hear you singing while you play on your own. Having mastered "yes" and "no" a while back, you've moved on to "maybe," "pobly," and "I think so."

Your favorite toys at the moment are the electric train and the little multicolored train cars, the turtle drawing pad, the big dump truck, and the "band in a box" that Santa got your for Christmas. Santa asked Grandma to get Mommy's permission first. Wasn't that nice? Grandma thought I wouldn't like all the noise, but I love when we have a family jam session, all shaking our maracas and banging our tambourine and dancing around.

You've been getting acquainted with the various body parts. The other day I was sitting on the edge of your tub, getting the towel ready, when I felt your little fingers at the waist of my jeans. "Mommy, tummy," you said. "That's right, that's my tummy," I replied. You pointed between my legs and said, "Mommy, penis." "I don't have a penis," I said. You raised your eyebrows. "Mommy, penis," you repeated, probably thinking you must have heard me wrong. "Mommy is a girl. Girls have no penises." Your jaw dropped open and you backed away. A long discussion ensued about all the people we know, whether they are boys or girls, and whether they have penises. By the end you got it, but you still didn't like it. "Mommy," you cried, "No penis!" "It's okay," I reassured you. "Daddy has one and we can share." Oy. I need to get better at my explanations before you're old enough to ask followup questions.

Love,
Mommy

Full post as published by Magic Cookie on January 22, 2009 (boomark / email).