Twenty-two

Alexander,

22 months have passed since you entered our lives, and I believe that these last 30 days may have been some of my favorites, and some of our most challenging with you. I'll remember this month as the time when I finally realized that you're your own little person, a boy, not a baby, and that you will often (REALLY OFTEN) have radically different ideas than we do about what is good and fun to do.

My favorite: You trying to walk down the stairs unaided. Daily, I have enjoyed a vehement display of independence in your absolute refusal to hold my hand and allow me to walk alongside you as you navigate the too-high-for-you-because-your-slacker-parents-haven't-purchased-and-installed-an-alternative-height banister and progress down our 12 VERY STEEP NON-CARPETED 60-YEAR OLD WOODEN stairs. It's gotten to the point where you just give up, sit on the top stair and then graciously let me carry you to the bottom, because if we can't do it 100% your way, then it's just not worth your effort.

My second favorite: The realization that you are totally working me over at bedtime. And I get now that this has probably (Skip is snorting to himself and saying, "probably?") been going on since your first breath on this planet. So here it is. When you are having difficulty settling into sleep and your Dad checks in on you, of late the mere sight of his silhouette in the doorway has you diving back into your normal sleep position, thanking him profusely and issuing many loud good nights. Contrast this to when I pay a post-bedtime visit; immediately when you realize it's me in the doorway, you fling your arms up, start crying, "Mommy, MOMMY," as if you haven't seen me in a year, and then gigantic tears that could sink ships begin welling up and streaming down your all-too-cute for this nonsense cheeks.

Then you begin your stall tactic to keep me from leaving. You decide that you don't want your blanket in bed with you, so you throw it out. Immediately after doing so, and often before it hits the carpet, you start asking for your blanket again. I've created a rule where I will return the blanket once. Then I leave your room. Lately, I've been chuckling to myself along the way down the stairs as I listen to you shout (and quite rudely), "MOMMY!" Make no mistake - this is most certainly not the cry to Mommy that is issued when you are injured, sad, or otherwise really needing Mommy (and when it is that, I am by your side, no questions). This is an irritated, irritable, I-am-not-getting-my-way-and-I-don't-like-it, "Mommy." So, I made this conscious decision about three weeks ago not to let myself feel guilty again about this. I realized that you're pissed. It's like I'm telling you to turn off the TV and do your homework and am then tuning out a barrage of, "but, MOMs." At that moment, I'm glimpsing your pre-adolescence. And I'm fearful.

But really now, the last month hasn't been all about frustration. You've had some pretty awesome and heart-melting moments, making it even easier for me to laugh when you're upset about not getting your way. For the first time this month, you and I sang a song together. We were in the car traveling with your Dad, and I started singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider to you. It took me until I was well into the part about the rain coming down to wash out said spider that I realized you were in the backseat whispering along. So I started the song again and then waited. Sure enough, your little voice chimed in with your version of the second line. We sang it twice through, alternating line for line. And when we finished, I cried.

Since then, you've expanded your song repertoire to include portions of Where's Jeff and Hot Potato (both by the Wiggles). I'm thinking that 22 months is too young to start you in vocal training. I am overjoyed at you have this seemingly innate love of music and take so much joy in participating it its creation.


You have also learned your A-B-Cs. I was hoping that we would be able to post a video of you singing them, however we've yet been unable to catch you with the camera as you have a thing about singing these when we are all half asleep. I'm convinced that you have stage fright when you're awake. We recently traveled to Florida to visit your Great Grandmother and midway through the first night in the hotel you woke up and needed some attention. Making an already tedious story shorter, you sang through the alphabet twice, complete with generous applause for yourself upon completion. You then remarked to your dad about how the hippos at the zoo were eating pasta. I have no clue what was in your water that night, but I don't think this is a night your father and I will ever forget. Nor will we ever be happier about being up with you at 3:00 am.


I love you crazy-singing-stubborn-boy,
MOMMY!