You are now twenty-seven months old. That’s two and a bit, we don’t actually say twenty-seven months, because frankly no-one can be bothered with the math. Anyway, what I mean to say is that you are another month older. And with this extra month of age, has come an explosion of imagination. Nothing is as it seems in your two-year old mind. Straws and paper towel wrapped together are pigs, and a stick with a block on the end is you catching a fish. Teddy bear picnics are now a daily occurrence and I will soon have drunk enough imaginary tea to rival Her Royal Highness. This vast and rapidly expanding imagination of yours means you are increasingly happy to occupy yourself. This makes mummy’s morning coffee indescribably more enjoyable, and we both know that a coffee-d up mummy is a happy mummy!
It seems, however, that your creativity also has other manifestations. You have discovered the art of fibbing. These started off innocent enough, calling out to me in the morning that you needed your nappy changed. As I stumbled sleepy eyed down to you, you declared “no change, poo gone”, hands raised, shoulders shrugged like it was a mystery to you where it had gone. These white lies then progressed onto more serious allegations. Like when you are asked to move out of the way and refuse, so we move you, and you promptly throw yourself on the ground and wail “Mummy, pushed meeeee”. Thankfully we haven’t yet experienced such an episode in public. I’m holding my breath that that day may never eventuate.
Your voracious love of food has returned. It turns out that fussy phase was indeed short lived and almost certainly a result of a sinus infection. Most mornings if I’m not woken by your protestations of phantom poo, you are telling me that you “neeeeeed porridge” or weetbix, or eggs or toast. Some mornings you can’t even wait the three minutes it takes me to make breakfast and instead start munching on some dry weetbix instead. Whatever keeps you happy little one.
For the last six months your vocabulary has continued to explode. But you have down right refused to say your own name. We have encouraged and cajoled, begged and bribed, but to no success. We should have learned already, you do things in your own time. And so you did. A few weeks ago. And we were beyond excited. My reaction may have even been a little over the top enthusiastic because you now refer to yourself as “Ockie, YAY!”. We can work on the finer details later.
Thank you for another month of being you.
I love you always.
you can find my other letters to Lachlan here.