I’ve been hearing more and more lately that 45 is the new 35, or 40 is the new 30, or 75 is the new 60- pick your poison. If that’s the case, I’m still in my 20's so I'm feeling pretty good - rock on. Yet it occurred to me, you don’t hear much in regards to the evolving maturity of 2 year olds. It would seem, 2 is 2 is 2. Isn’t it comforting to know we can count on our insane little creatures to uphold tradition even if no one else will?
Forgive me Father, it’s been almost a month since my last blog. Where does the time go? It’s hard to write when you have a two-year old running around sticking lollipops in your hair and incessantly advising you that the letter “B says Bah!”? Ah well, my son is a delightful baby, although I get a lot of feedback when I refer to him as a “baby”. He’s a big boy and I barely get the tags off of clothes before he immediately outgrows them. I experimented in wrapping him in sheets of lycra as an infant as an alternative to packing away clothes that I just bought last week, but I was getting a lot of inquiries on our families "interesting religious garb" so I gave it up and went back to burning money on the alter of the clothing gods. He wears a size 6 at 27 months and his feet are a size 12. The big shoes he has to wear as a result leave him clomping around the house like an elephant with boards strapped to its feet. Poor baby. On the bright side, I’m in pretty good shape from carrying around a 42lb toddler. Sure I have my rough days, but a couple bottles of Advil, a few days in traction and I’m as good as new.
My son, Jack, is actually a hard thing for me to write about because once I start I’m not sure I can stop. I write him a monthly letter for his baby book that captures his life and accomplishments in detail but I will try to stick to the highlights in my blog that no one reads (except for my one "fan" who accidentally stumbled upon this site- yea!!!! At least my personal quota has been met.). Jack is a wonderful child. Especially when he is napping. Haha. Just kidding. He has a sunny disposition and my husband and I, the most unobjective and biased people in his life, find him amazing clever, adorable and smart. He loves the alphabet, knows all the letters and sounds, knows shapes, colors, animal, counts to 100 and even puts away his own laundry. I’m trying to teach him to read but he is pretending it is too advanced for him. If you think I’m pushing him, you haven’t spent time recently as the parent to one toddler. It’s a full time job keeping him entertained. I’m cheating by entertaining him with things he will need to know on his SAT, but kids this age just seem to love learning anything. Its no wonder firstborns have the reputation as demanding and self centered. Seeing the attention we give Jack, I want to go back and be a firstborn myself! I can't believe I'm a middle child. What a total rip off.
However, as much as it pains me to say it, Jack is somewhat of a daddy’s boy. The other night he was playing on our bed and I was trying to entice him to start his bedtime routine by asking him if he wanted to read. “No” he said, definitively. “I see, Jack, what is it you want to do?” I asked. He flopped back on the pile of pillows like a little sultan, a gleam in his eye, and said "remote!”. Curious, I gave it him the remote. He turned on the TV (and it too me how long to figure out this remote myself? My 2 year old can turn on the 11 components as if he was an in utero electronics champion) and I asked “What do you want to watch?”. He said “Footballlllll”. And he was not kidding. Since then I have found myself fighting for control of the remote from my two-year-old who wants to watch ESPN. It’s my worst nightmare. And what with the "hoops" (as my son calls it) championship underway now, I'm about to concede defeat.
If that wasn’t bad enough, Jack shares my husband’s penchant for keeping things orderly. He no sooner drops a grain of rice on the floor than he runs over and gets the broom and starts sweeping furiously. Laundry goes in the hamper almost before you are even finished taking it off, and open doors are most definitely not allowed, they must be closed. (don’t get me started on what goes on with the light switches around here- lets just say I’m often both figuratively and literally in the dark) One of his first words as a 18 month old was “Mess!”. I question how much of my DNA he absorbed at times.