19

Yesterday, technically, marked my 19th month of faking it. And while I know that 19 months is a strange milestone to celebrate, I was so caught up in me and my stuff that I let the 18th month come and go without so much as a sentence. Sorry, LG, Momma got all narcissistic. Not to mention that you've been giving me a run for my money. And my cell phone, the car/house keys, my wallet, the cat food, the stairs, Daddy's inhaler, the remotes, the telephone, the mail, the front door, the cats....

LG's 18 month weigh-in found him at 26.7 pounds, 33.5 inches of pure energy. He wakes up in the morning as if someone just filled his veins full of Screamin Energy. Before I even manage to fully open his bedroom door, the jumping has commenced, syncopated by his demand that we go for a walk ("gwak"). Diaper changes and breakfast be dammed, it's time to get up and get going!!! The promise of a banana ("dedada") or a smoothie ("moodee") is enough of a distraction to allow time for getting dressed, then it's a race down the stairs with a hopeful Mommy wondering which level we're going to stop on today. We head off to the gym ("mim") after breakfast or to the playroom or to the park and go, go, go until lunchtime.

At the gym, Miss Kim ("Mim!") and Miss Dahlia ("Da-ya") inform me that he organizes races from one end to the other (regardless of whether or not there are any other kiddos there to participate). He puts one size 5 1/2 foot out, says "okaaaaaaaaaaay..... go" and shoots across the floor like a shot from a cannon, yelling "Go!Go!Go!Go!Go!" the entire way. At the park he runs to the steps, climbs up the steps, across the bridge to the big twirly slide, hoots at me from the top, then yells "Go!" and slides down to the bottom. His hair barely has time to recover from the static before he's at the top hooting again. Then he'll run over to the bench/steps/bears/swings and climb up, occasionally requesting "Help, Mom" ("Mep, Ma") if he can't quite get his knee up high enough. For a split second he might lean his head back and relax ("ax") but if you blink, you'll miss it. He hasn't quite figured out the rock wall yet, but checks it out every time -- front to back, top to bottom, like a little anthropologist studying his own personal Rosetta stone. It's the only thing that slows him down at the park and I shudder to think that someday he's going to decode that damn thing.

On the way home he makes sure that I see all the "wildlife" -- pointing and calling to them in their native tongues. In LG's world, animals are distinguished by the sound they make. If you ask him to say "puppy", he'll tell you "woof". "Bird" is pronounced "teeet-teeeet-teeet", and "horse" is pronounced "eeeeeigh" with a shake of the head and the occasional bob up and down at the end. And if you call him on it? Tell him, "yes, that's what the horse says, but can you say "horse"?"? You might get his special look of disdain (eyebrow raised ever-so-=slightly) before he either pops blankie ("dee-dee") back into his mouth or uses his pointy-finger to inquire "dat?". Or he might just ignore you all together. His shouts of "Keys! Keys!" ("Tees! Tees!") begin to echo through the neighborhood blocks before we get home and he hums under his breath ("hmm-hmmm") as he clicks through the keys on the ring before he selects the one for the deadbolt. I learned quickly that it's not a good idea to let him take the keys in with him as his fascination with the locks quickly developed into a need to lock the door as soon as it closes. Thank goodness for the lockbox on the outermost door!

We race up the stairs (unless he has decided he'd much rather sit on this stair or that one. Or move back and forth between the two. Or get to the top of the stairs and turn around and go back down. Or write on the stairs/walls/door with sidewalk chalk.) for lunch. Thankfully, he'll eat just about anything, so I don't have to go to much trouble to scrounge up a sandwich or leftovers. Pasta ("sas-dah")is his favorite thing in all the world, right behind bananas, pineapple ("pie-bo-po"), peas ("dees"), blueberries ("boobrees") and mango ("mayco"). Apples ("bo-pos") with peanut butter and raisins ("rayins") will do in a pinch, but if you can catch Mr. Rogers, he'll eat whatever you put in his mouth.

He runs, crawls, climbs, jumps, kicks, slides, and scoots over, under, in, out, behind, between, on, around, and past, then turns around and does it all again in reverse, just to make sure he didn't miss anything. His curiosity is insatiable and on the verge of obsessive. And, no, I don't need anyone to point out where he might possibly get that from, thank you very much.

He collapses sometime between noon and 1 to recharge and resumes his frenetic pace until 7:30 pm when we put him to bed. Not so much because he's tired as because by that point we need a chance to recover from the smoky haze of burning shoe rubber that results from trying to keep up with him all day. His nightly bath is more of a Survivor-esque challenge to see which contestant can successfully keep the water on the other side of the bathtub wall. He wins at least half the time. Storytime is about as relaxed as he gets and even then he likes to help turn the pages and point to all the pictures on the page. One by one. In order. And we must touch every single one before the page is turned or suffer the wrath of the 19-month-old.

His doctor was quite impressed with his gross and small motor coordination -- apparently his early mastery of kicking was just the one of the first signs that he got a healthy dose in the brawn department. She was also pleased with his cognitive development -- he was able to accurately pick out the pictures of the bird, the horse, the dog, and the monkey on the little sheet of paper that she showed him. His language, however, lags a bit. Which we're still trying to fathom. If his first pictures didn't clearly show his birthmark just minutes after he was born, I'd start to consider the possibility of a mix up at the hospital. Maybe he's just taking after his father? Waiting until he has all the words he needs before he starts sharing them with us? Doesn't get a chance to get a word in edgewise? Whatever the case may be, his doctor wasn't alarmed. (Um, yeah, of course I'm alarmed. Did you really even have to ask that question? I'm intensely aware of the fact that since he spends 90% of his time with me, the bad stuff will always be my fault. The good stuff? Good genetic material. But I get to claim the rest!) So we'll keep our fingers crossed for the "language explosion" to hit before his 2-year visit and in the meantime I'll annoy the hell out of him my stepping up my ceaseless prattle. Game on, little boy... either you tell Mommy "That's it! Please don't say another work for at least 45 seconds!" or suffer the barrage. We'll both be dying for Mommy to go back to work before this is all over!!!!!

There's probably a ton more to report on, but don't worry. I'd have to go back up and re-read what I've already written, remember what I've already written after I've re-read it, and not get distracted by, say, the piece of paper on the floor, just inches from the trashcan. Wonder how that happened. Did it fall out when I was emptying the trash this morning? Did I toss it over there and not realize I had missed? Is it important? I should probably save it. I'll put it up here on the desk, right beside this can of Coke. Hey! I don't remember opening a can of Coke today! Wait, wait, so THAT's where my soda disappeared to yesterday. I remember now, I came up here to get BG's mother's birthday card ready... oh, crap. I didn't get that birthday card ready yet...


.

1 comment:

Valerie said...

Damn, Woman! Love the post.

My fav is: His curiosity is insatiable and on the verge of obsessive. And, no, I don't need anyone to point out where he might possible get that from, thank you very much.