Mendolonium

He is, a morning person; something I do not understand but can’t help but love when he wakes up next to me smiling and talking.

He is too busy to nurse when he is awake.  He is cuddly and focused, nursing for a long time – twenty minutes to an hour, but only when he is sleepy.  I can sometimes catch him with a little nurse in the morning – both of us half asleep, but then he is off and crawling, only settling down to nurse before his morning and afternoon naps and then again at bedtime (and all night long).  Occasionally he gets fussy and I realize that he is thirsty or hungry and he will allow me to nurse him wide awake.  At those times, he nurses like a man at an oasis in the desert; then sits up and attempts to fling himself off the rocking chair – his way of letting me know he is quite done.

He might not like to nurse when he is awake, but boy, that baby can eat.  He demolishes bowls of tortellini, plates of spanikopita, and handfuls of crackers.  He loves strong flavors and relishes balsamic vinaigrette and Indian food.  I never bought and hardly made any “baby” food for him at all; he much prefers finger foods that he can feed himself.   He isn’t overly fond of sweets; actually seeming to prefer the savory.  His favorite food is, without a doubt, cheese and when I opened the refrigerator to retrieve some cheese for myself recently I am quite sure he exclaimed “Cheese!” while he squirmed excitedly.

He was rather quiet from months four through nine, but has now exploded in conversation.  Babbling animatedly and using real words now:  “Da da” (for Jeff), “Ta ta” (for Thomas), “Ba” (for bath), “Yea!” (when we clap and are happy), “Dog-gah” (for dog), and his first word “Kit-tay” (for kitty and sometimes the dog).  He surprised me earlier this week by crawling over to a drawing of a tiger in one of his brother’s books and exclaiming, “Kit-tay!”.  He signs “nurse”, “more”, “eat”, “cracker”, and “dog”.

He has discovered books and can’t get enough of these.  He’ll sit in our laps for half an hour reading and re-reading each book over and over again.  He turns the pages himself, quickly and with a flourish or sorts, when he has had enough of a picture.  Yesterday I saw him, for the first time, pick up a book and “read” it to himself contentedly.

He could care less about toys.  The remote, the stuffing to a chair, the rocks in the garden all have far more appeal to him than anything made by Haba or Chicco.  The only “age appropriate” objects he is interested in are blocks and balls, although the more “adult” or dangerous the ball the more he likes it.  To wit, an old half-deflated balloon (aka latex chocking hazard of doom) is his favorite plaything right now.  He puts everything in his mouth; I live in fear of the day he finds a nugget of dog poo in the backyard.  You know how some toddlers hit, some scream, and some bite when frustrated – he’ll be a biter.

He is fearless.  I have the feeling he will be the child of mine that wins the “Most Visits to the ER” award.  Instead of standing on the floor and pushing his block wagon, he climbs on top of it and stands up, holding on with one hand.  While outside putting together a playhouse the kids received for Christmas I had to climb inside of it (cursing all the while at the infernal thing) in order to complete it.  When I emerged thirty seconds later, I found him at the top of the stairs, kneeling at the back door grinning as if he was the king of the world.  This week I removed the couch cushions for cleaning and he scrambled up the cushions onto the bare couch and proceeded to have one of the best times of his life, climbing and rolling ,up and down and up again.

He loves active play; roughhousing with his brother like a tiny little Greco-Roman wrestler.   At his brother’s weekly tumbling class he flings himself into the pit of foam blocks with the three and four year olds, scampers over the mats, and looks longingly at the trampoline and high bars.  He is a huge fan of baths and will make a beeline for the bathroom as soon as we announce it is bath time or he hears the water running.  He pulls up on the outside of the tub and chants “Ba, ba ba!” while he lifts up his leg and attempts to climb in.  Bathing with a three-year-old big brother is risky business and he inevitably gets dunked under the water ending up with a face full of bubbles.  But after an initial moment of distress he shakes off the affront and starts crawling around, standing up, and plopping back down in the bath again, ready for more.

He adores being naked.  He fights getting dressed and diapers like he is a member of some sort of clothing resistance movement.  There have been times when he is cranky in the afternoon, tired from a too-short nap, refusing to nurse, and at a loss as to how to cheer him, I have stripped him down naked and instantly his fussiness evaporates as he streaks around the house unencumbered by his fabric shackles.

He is a “stinker” – a little imp impervious to adult rules.  We tell him no and distract him tirelessly, but he persists in attempting to pull up on the oven, gnaw on the window frames, and eat fur off the floor.  He has made a game out of quickly crawling over to the dog bed and then making a very specific little noise which brings me running to check on him.  I say “stinker” and he giggles and crawls off, waiting to crawl back on the bed again when I am not looking.

He does not suffer in silence.  When he is displeased he makes what we not-so-affectionately refer to as “the noise”; a sort of “eh eh eh” sound over and over again that will make you say, “I don’t care what it is (food, boobies, the credit card?), just give into his demands and make it stop.”  When he falls (which is often given his propensity to climb anything three dimensional) he cries loudly so that all may fuss over his perceived wounds.  At night when Jeff goes to soothe him back to sleep it sounds as if he is yelling at Jeff, giving Jeff a spirited lecture on why he should be handed over to his Mama right this minute.

He is so happy when I come home.  He smiles widely and reaches out for me.  Jeff hands him to me he and quiets and shoots Jeff a triumphant little smirk.  I nuzzle his soft, wispy hair.  He burrows his head into my neck and clings to me like a little baby orangutan holding on to his mama for dear life.

He is so easy to love.

He is my sweet, little “Bubby”.

He is my Henry.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 19th, 2010 at 5:37 pm and is filed under Theodore. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.