September 20, 2007
You love to talk. No, that sentence doesn’t quite express your love of the spoken word. You LOVE to talk. Constantly. All the time. You narrate every aspect of our day.
Watching television with you is the bane of your siblings existence. No matter how loud they turn the volume up, your voice can still be heard over it.
Your baby talk is slowly fading away and being replaced by real words. You no longer call your siblings by the cute nicknames you once gave them. I have caught them telling you to keep calling them by the special nicknames. You will humor them and say it once or twice, but quickly revert back to your new grown up way of talking.
Your insatiable baby palette is now being replaced with a picky preschooler one. You randomly turn your nose up in disgust at foods that just yesterday you loved. And tomorrow you will love again. Some meals you will only want to eat the vegetable, others only the meat, still others you want to everything, but with only one kind of food on your plate at a time.
One night I refused this unreasonable, to me, request and put all the food on your plate and told you to deal with it. You did. By throwing all the food off of your plate that you didn’t want.
I grabbed your wrist and reprimanded you. You looked at me with your big brown eyes and said, “Okay, mama”
As soon as I let go, you quickly reached over with both hands, grabbed the offending food, threw it off of your plate, and turned to me with, “Sorry, mama.” It doesn’t help matters that your siblings all laugh at your antics.
I love the way you describe things. Tonight for dinner we had “silly french fries” which really was asparagus. You call cows “moos” and have recently developed the habit of saying, “What the hell is this?” about everything you come across.
And just this morning you said,loudly to everyone within earshot, “It’s true I like eggies. So shut-up.” Completely out of the blue. No one had said you didn’t like eggs.
When we are out in public I find myself apologizing for your mouth by explaining you have a slew of older brothers. But if I were to be honest you get it from me. I am just happy that you haven’t picked up any other choice words of mine.
You are a creature of habit. Anything we do one time we must do forever. Whether it is read three “bed stories” under the covers of my bed, drink out of a certain cup, or wear socks with your crocs. There is no such thing as changing your mind in your little world.
You love looking at books and being read to. I will often find you sitting on the floor of our sunroom, your legs outstretched in front of you and resting on them a huge book. Your most recent favorite book is an Illustrated Pocket Guide to Insects. You keep handing it to me and demanding that I read it. It is filled with huge pictures of icky bugs that I would rather not look at, but I will browse through it anyway with you and give silent thanks that most of those insects don’t live anywhere near us.
You still love baseball, more than I have ever seen in a child your age. You insist we call you a “baseball guy” not a baby, not a little boy, not a big boy. You are a baseball guy.
You also still love trains. But not Thomas, no you love Percy. Unfortunately for you everything has Thomas on it. This makes you angry. Irrationally angry. You will see Thomas on something in the store, like a cup or lunchbox, and feel compelled to throw it on the ground. That is how great your displeasure is that Percy is not the star. “Not wike it dat Thomas! My wike Percy!”
We think you have restless leg syndrome. No really. You put yourself to sleep at night by kicking your legs. On those nights that you decide to come join Daddy and me in our bed you kick us constantly in our backs. And then kick all the covers off. If we pull the covers back up you kick them off again, laying on your back like you are bicycling in the air. Even holding your legs down doesn’t stop you. Not that I do that ever in the middle of the night. Ahem.
You have such a sweet disposition. Always smiling. Always happy. And when you aren’t it is for a good reason and usually brief. Like seeing Thomas on a store shelf.
I could go on and on about you. How you love talking on the phone, digging in the dirt, and eating french fries from Mac-n-donald. They way you rub my stomach and arms when you snuggle up to me and say I am “cozy and squishy.” And when I prompt you to say that about other people you say no one else is squishy like Mama. I love how you will get close to me when I am sitting on the floor, cup your hands around my cheeks and kiss me.
There is so much more I can write about you and your delicious ways, but we have to leave to drop one of your brothers off for baseball practice, another at gymnastics, and then go and watch a night game for yet another. Somewhere in the next two hours we have to eat dinner. And I have to decide what snacks to bring or else fork over my bank account for overpriced snack bar fare. And plan what sort of jackets to bring, because it might be cold. Maybe? Who knows this time of year.
And while I am thankful for your happy easy going personality, I also wonder if it developed because there was no other choice. Since you were born you have been dragged around. And then I wish I had dragged your oldest brother around when he was a baby, or maybe I should just tie him to my bumper and drag him around town now.
I promise I will never want to do that to you. At least not for another ten years, anyway.
I love you, baseball guy.
RSS feed for comments on this post.
The URI to TrackBack this entry is: