You achieved the definition of a “goose egg” on your forehead tonight.
Your Mom and I didn’t see it happen (at least we’re not helicopter parents!) but you somehow slipped and banged your head into the corner of a wall. Your Mom is a pro and immediately put some ice on it while I distracted you with an episode of “Elmo’s World” on my phone. Eliza got the best deal out of the whole thing because she also enjoyed the episode, injury-free.
Your personality continues to blossom. You have the biggest, gaping smile when things go your way and especially in reaction to the theme song of “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.” When things don’t go your way you project high-pitched screeches and furrow your brow. When you do something wrong you have a two-step apology: you say “hi” softly as if talking to a baby and then follow-up with a kiss.
You want to be in on all the action around the house. You don’t let your height stop you and carry a step stool around the house to reach sinks and counter-tops. You no longer want to use a high chair. Instead you prefer to stand on a dining chair. You’ve only fallen off a couple times. You’ve mastered the water dispenser and like to take the water and pour it into Greta’s water bowl over and over.
You can say just about any two-syllable word we test you with. Your favorite word right now is “ucky” for garbage and slimy foods, like mushrooms, and like to throw things away in the garbage at any chance. You also now tell us when you poop but somehow we’re the only ones that say “ucky” when that happens.
Thankfully you haven’t given up all of your baby behaviors yet. You still like to cuddle on a lap to watch TV or look at a book and generally like to be held and perch on a hip when we have company. I think we’re weeks away from those fading into memory so we’re enjoying the last of these moments.
You joined me for a ski day in my kid carrier backpack last weekend. I think we had a misunderstanding. I said we were going “skiing.” You must have heard we were going “squealing” because you squealed like a piglet in my ear for a half an hour. You accelerated my hearing loss by years in those minutes.
You’re totally attached to your Mom right now and let me know it on that bunny hill. You have an internal alarm when she’s more than 50 feet away and that alarm does not turn off until she’s back in range. She has the same challenges with trying to turn you over to childcare at the gym. You last about 15 minutes, or I should say the staff puts up with your for 15 minutes, before she’s paged to recover you.
I get it. She’s your whole world, but you have to play it cool. You want her to keep saving you from the next goose egg, right?
Love, Dad