30 months old
June 18, 2007
This weekend you got a haircut. An honest to goodness, real boy haircut. No more long hair with the baby waves that I liked to run my fingers through. And you liked to swat my hand away and say, “Iss my hair. TOP DAT!”
You have had hair cuts before. But you always just looked like a baby with short hair.
At 30 months old you have already begun to tell me about your plans for when you are a grown up. According to you, you will have a mowocycle. And not only that, it will have a holder for your sippy cup. When I point out that as a grown up perhaps you won’t have a Thomas sippy cup, you become very indignant. “Yessssss. I grow up I HAB MY SIPPY CUP on my MOWO-CYCLE!” If you knew how to roll your eyes you would.
You love to go to the dump with your father on the weekends. I am not sure why. All it consists of is a five minute car ride surrounded by smell garbage. But you love it. “My Go-a dump? My go-a dump, Daddy?”
Whenever Daddy is home you insist that I move your car seat into his car. Even if he is not going anywhere. You just like to know it is available should Daddy try to make a quick get-a-way without you. “Take my carseat out you big bus car, Mama. Put in Daddy tiny car.” Everytime Rob dares to venture near the door you take off running. “My come wif you! My comin’ wif you!”
You love to tell everyone that you have a penis. As we stroll through our local Wal-Mart you will suddenly shout out the the person next to us, “You HAB A PENIS? I HAB A PENISSSS.” You also like to tell people, “Mama not hab a penis. Her penis falled off.”
I have jotted down things that I don’t want to forget. Things about this stage you are in that I know I will not remember unless they are written down.
1) The way you drag the ’s’ sound at the end of words out longer than it needs to be. So your pants, becomes pantsssssssssss.
2) The way you have names for all your shoes:
slip-slops, cocoa shoes (laceless slip ons-no idea why), baby shoes (brown fisherman sandals-again, no idea), sandals, dum-dum shoes (monster shoes)
3)The way you look out the window and yell at all the “chicken-monks” instead of calling them chipmonks. I am not sure why it amuses me so, but it does.
4) The way that when I am away from you for even a short time, like using the bathroom, when you see me you will come running, your arms wide open and yell, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! I found you.” And then you hug my legs and routinely head butt my pelvic bone.
5) The things that your brothers have taught you to say.
So now out of the blue when someone says something to you and you don’t hear them, you will respond, “What you talking about, punk?”
Transformation to little boy is complete. And I don’t remember okaying it.
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