March 12, 2006
Today you got your first haircut, given by yours truly. No, I am not a hair dresser nor do I have any particular skill in this area.
I am thinking of becoming a Hassidic Jew just so I don’t have to cut the hair in front of your ears. Putting you in a headlock while wielding sharp scissors near your face was not one of the most fun things I have ever done.
Now you look like you had your hair cut around a bowl on your head. If the bowl were handmade by a kindergartener.
You have learned some important and useful skills this month, like how to take apart an Oreo cookie and scrape the filing out with your two front teeth. No one ever showed you how to do this. You figured it out all on your own. You then throw the chocolate cookies on the ground and stomp on them. Sometimes you like to eat the crumbs, going so far as to try and wrestle the dustpan away from me.
You climb onto everything. Every chair, couch, and bench has been scaled and scaled again. So far you haven’t figured out that you can push them around the room to have the ability to climb on them and reach things that you want. Once that happens we will be sporting the oh-so-attractive look of chairs up on top of all the tables, like we are an elementary classroom gone home for the night.
Trying to feed you will invoke your fury. You want to feed yourself, at all times. You want to feed yourself my food and will try and crawl across the table to get to my plate. You must have your own fork, though you only use it for flinging food out of your bowl and on to the floor for later. I rarely serve soup.
You still don’t say Mama. C’mon, I carried you around inside my body for nine months and pushed you out of my vagina. Surely you can say mama. When I tell you to say Mama, you giggle. Why must you torment me? Why?
Your vocabulary consists of many words, almost all of which begin with the letter “B” and therefore sound the same.
water bottle: bah-bah
milk bottle: bah-bah
Clearly we do not need to contact MENSA yet. We are hoping that the Oreo opening ability is significant of some higher reasoning skills going on and not indicative of a future career spent sitting on a couch, smoking a joint, and having the munchies.
You love to spin around and then walk across the room like a crazy drunk, tripping and banging into things.
Here you are doing a shot. It’s a shot of Tylenol for you teething pain, or whatever pain it is that is causing you to wake up every hour on the hour all night long to nurse. The boobies, they are getting tired and might have to be retired soon.
You get excited when I take the little shot glass out, perhaps a little too excited.
It would seem you are well suited for the life of a frat boy.
Albeit a sensitive one. You and your sister seem to be practicing for life in a nudist colony. keeping clothing on the two of you is an exercise in futility.
You have temper tantrums with a fury that seems me, way too furious. you will march in place, screaming before flinging yourself onto the floor. You have banged your head a few times on the floor to express your extreme displeasure,but after doing it a few times you seemed to make the connection that it hurt and didn’t gain you anything except for parents who laughed.
When you get very angry you will turn and run away from us, your arms outstretched and your face turned up toward the sky. You scream much louder than someone your size should be able to scream. I imagine you are looking to Heaven, crying out, “Lord, why did you stick me here with these idiots who can’t appreciate the sound of a metal carving knife banging a glass bowl.”
You still love the toilet brush and the garbage. To include putting non garbage things into the garbage can, and taking actual garbage out. Many things have disappeared from our house in the past month and I fear that they are now in the landfill.
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