You turned twenty months old yesterday and in the last month you have made it abundantly clear that you are no longer our baby boy. Your desire for independence makes us proud. It also makes us want to bang our heads repeatedly against a wall. Unfortunately your favourite way to assert said independence is by saying no to EVERYTHING. Except you prefer to save your words and instead assume a serious face whilst shaking your head til it looks like your eyes might just roll on out of there.
Speaking of words, you’re vocabulary has exploded this month. ‘Pear’, ‘Cot (apricot)’, Ow-ee (Ollie your friend), ‘Pool’, and ‘Poo’ are on high rotation but you’re also starting to mimic words as you hear them. This is wonderful for your language development but not so great for your potty-mouthed parents. If there was a swear jar in this house it would be buying us an overseas holiday. Thankfully you haven’t broken out any of these four letter words in public. Yet.
You started daycare this month. It did not begin well. On the first few days that I left you there I could hear you screaming from the car park. It was horrible for us both and I felt sad and worried that we were doing the wrong thing. But just four weeks in you’re loving it. When I pick you up I will nearly always find you near the CD player, bopping away to the music, the teachers full of praise for how well you’re settling in.
Your love of music and sense of rhythm continues to astound us. You will do anything for a beat. No music? No problem. Just find the nearest person (stranger or otherwise) and get them to clap for you. I’m not sure yet if I’d like to claim your dancing style as my influence but let’s just say it’s unique. Think suave jazz moves, with some heavy-metal head thrashing, and a touch of interpretative modern dance. Yeah, it’s crazy and we love it. I also love that your music taste extends beyond The Wiggles (THANK GOD!). One of your favourite songs to dance to is Santa Fe by Beirut which is awesome because it just so happens to be my favourite song at the moment too. We look like total dorks when we dance together in the lounge room and you know what, I don’t care because it is so much fun. Sometimes I’ll carry you in my arms as we jump and spin and leap over the milk-stained floorboards and my heart fills to bursting with joy.
It’s not always rainbows and lollipops however. Some days I start counting down the minutes until you go to bed, AT BREAKFAST. The bad days are most often borne of frustration. Frustration that you can’t get the lid back on the container of cotton buds; frustration that we don’t understand that you want an apricot, not a pear; frustration that you can’t stick your hand in the oven. I try to empathise with you, to help you to communicate but some days the whinging and the screaming and the body-throwing-melthdowns are so overwhelming that I just want to lie down on the ground with you.
Despite the difficult days I feel lucky to be your mum. You teach me patience and kindness. And you remind me how joyful it is to live in the moment, being happy with what is right in front of me in that flicker of time.
I love you always. And forever.