Wow, my tiny boy has reached another milestone age!
He is becoming more articulate in every way, every day.
He's verbal, even though I don't know what he's saying most of the time.
He signs for milk, dog, eat, and drink water. He's really got the dog thing down. He can hear Tito, our crazed chihuahua, barking in the other room, look at me, snap his fingers in the sign for "dog," and imitate his bark. "Yes, darling," I tell him with a smile.
I'm practicing the yoga of not pressuring myself to do too much today. I think checking out a preschool first thing this morning, and getting a massage around lunchtime is plenty. Plus I'll have my own practice and go teach class later tonight. (I am eschewing Thursday group practice today; there is also a dance group starting on Thursdays of hilarious chicks that I'd like to do, too. I think I may have to alternate!)
He loves to climb. Anything. But especially his dad's old white vinyl couch. It just so happens to be where Tito likes to sit, perched on his tigerstripe pillow, waiting for the inquisitive baby to poke at him so he can snap and growl at someone closer to his own size.
B is really good at expressing happiness, silliness, joy, frustration, anger, not wanting to go to bed, not wanting to leave the playground, wanting to go to music class, not wanting to sit in the carseat, wanting to sit in the carseat, loving the prospect of eating, hating the safety belts on the highchair.
A couple of his favorite songs seem to be "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain" and "Low Rider."
He loves to clap when there's a communication breakthrough. He likes to hold court in his highchair, especially when there's a crowd. If he starts clapping, we all start clapping. He likes that.
He likes spinach. Likes it. And cantaloupe, and strawberries, and tortellini. Sometimes all in one bowl or mouthful.
Bodhi has a new sitter he really likes now. I'm trying to find balance so I can work and play while she's around. It's not easy. I love my son with a painful aching love, and I hate being apart from him, even when I'm sick of him and sick of myself. But he so enjoys other people, and he so enjoys experimenting and figuring things out. I really want him to have the preschool experience. And I gotta say, I LOVED this teacher. I have high hopes. I think he will thrive.
One of his life's greatest pleasures is picking up leaves from the living room floor, putting them in his Radio Flyer wagon, then wheeling it over to our front door mailslot and putting the leaves out through the mailslot. It's like we hired him to do this. He'll do it for a nice long stretch of time, and even get a little drool going. One of our parent friends told us, after they sat him one evening, that he had remarkable "focus." It's true! He also likes to push his little plastic wagon all over the back yard.
He's becoming more interested in puzzles, has almost figured out how to get small pieces into their proper spots; he likes crayons, and not just for eating but also for making lines and marks on paper; he'll turn any surface he sees into a drum; he loves to pretend he's calling his grandmother on mommy's cellphone; he looooves sliding down slides all by himself; he loves racing as fast as he can across any open field we happen to visit; he'll take the open field over the playscape any day; he prefers to eat with grownup forks and spoons than -snort- children's utensils; he cracks up when his mom says "Ma bouche," and points to her mouth, then "Ta bouche," and points to his mouth.
He can show you his ears, nose, toes, bellybutton and your eyes. Your ear. Your toes.
