Saturday, June 6, 2009
This is what happens when you chase a glass of wine with a bag of M&M's
Sweet, sweet 17 months. Seriously, if you don't have a 17 monther at home run out and get one because they are the awesomeness.
At 17 months, the boy is still deliciously unselfconscious which leads to much barbaric yawping on the playground. He runs around shouting happily at the other kids, announcing his presence like a tiny, benevolent king. Seriously, I'm going to weep big, raindrop tears the first time someone refuses to play with him. I get ferocious if kids say no when someone asks to play. Before I know what I'm doing, I turn into the kind of meddling, unhelpful adult that every child loathes, barging into their business and demanding that they allow Johnny NoFriends to join them. I'm probably just trying to make up for the fact that I spent most of 4th grade hiding from Eulalia Martinez during recess, even though I knew that it hurt her feelings. (Pardon while I wrastle with this mound of guilt.) It swells my heart that Baby B has full faith that everyone is his friend. He offers up his big, overbite-y grin to almost everyone he encounters (his patented "scrunchy nose" is generally reserved for those wearing glasses) and still squeals with delight whenver he sees something he loves. (Today that included the sprinklers, a helicopter, and a box of crackers.)
It's bittersweet seeing my toddler waddle towards boyhood. The "baby" in my baby is disappearing quick - it's hard not to get grabby about the things that remain. I find myself reaching for his chubby little hand far more than I probably should. (And far more than he'd like, judging by his evasive, "Get off, mom!" shake.) His dumpling thighs have turned long and lean. He's figured out how to pucker (or at least keep his lips closed) so no more big, openmouthed smooches for daddy and me. Saddest of all, morning cuddles are caput. We used to pull him into bed at 5:30 for a good 10 minute snuggle (that's how long it took for him to remember that he had toys) but now he's up and into the toy box/books/soccer ball before we can even demand a hug. (Yep, still at 5:30 am. Sorry, neighbors.)
Anybody else start craving another infant around this age? Or were you eyeing the Terrible Twos and girding your loins?
(Speaking of The Twos, the boy is there, peeps. There's cute - so much cute! - but the whining makes me want to eat my own hair. I remember reading that a baby's cry is calibrated at just the right pitch to make parents respond quickly without making them want to kill their young. Incessant, infuriating toddler whining, however...)