My son, my baby, turned three in June. And like every parent has said at least once, where has the time gone? When I started this blog he was not quite six months old.
I don’t write about my kids a whole lot, at least not in depth, for various reasons and because of that, you probably don’t know much about my son, whom I normally refer to as P (He really needs a better alias).
Well, as you may have guessed, he’s undeniably cute. Women everywhere fawn all over the cuteness. And his hair. It brings all the ladies to the yard.
He’s also an endless source of amusement for me. He recently went through this period where if you said or did something he didn’t like he’d go “Dooooon’t. Doooooo. Daaaat!” with big breaths in between each word, which always made me laugh.
Now he says “You ‘noyin me!” if you say or do something he’s not down with. (He learned it from his sister, who learned it from her friend, which kind of annoys ME) I know, it probably doesn’t sound that funny — unless you can see and hear him actually say it, in which case it’s freaking hilarious.
But if I laugh when he’s being serious, he gets all indignant and says “Dat NOT FUNNY, Mama!” which he learned from me because I’ve said “It’s not funny” to him many times for laughing while I’m trying to explain why he shouldn’t turn the oven on or pull the cat’s tail or some other potentially dangerous misdeed.
However, he’s got this impish quality that makes it nearly impossible to get truly upset at him — but if you you do he says “You MEAN me, Mommy! You make me SAD!”
Mean? Sad? Oy. Even though I know his charges are absurd, it’s still like a knife to the heart…
Today, I moved my bread machine from the kitchen counter to the floor without a second thought. I needed the space. What could possibly happen?
“Mommeeeeee!!! My brother is peeing in the bread machine!!!” yelled my daughter. (She often refers to him as “my brother” like I don’t know who he is)
I run into the kitchen and there he is with his little butt squeezed into the bread machine. Peeing. With a huge grin on his face. I could do nothing but laugh. Then I lifted him out and saw that by some miracle, the pee was only in the baking pan, which is, thankfully, removable and washable.
We have a childproof latch thing on out refrigerator. It’s not a lock but you have to be able to reach it to push the button and undo it. We put it on because when P was younger, he was forever getting into it and bringing me weird things like a bottle of ketchup or a bag of carrots.
When he started bringing me things in glass, I conceded to the latch, which served us well until he finally broke it recently by pulling on the door with all his weight.
Today he brought me a package of feta cheese, insisting I open it and give him some. Later, he got out a container of sour cream and proceeded to eat it with his fingers. Later it was a vegetarian corn dog. And finally, some yogurt. No wonder the kid is never hungry at dinnertime…
Almost every night, I read him a story and then he asks me to sleep in his room. For eight minutes. “Sleep Mama. Sleep my room eight minutes” and then he wraps himself all around me like an octopus or he curls up into a little ball and fits right into the empty space formed by my own curled up body so we’re like two nested C’s.
To quote Forrest Gump, we’re like peas and carrots, P and me. He’s pretty much my constant companion and I’m his. If, when we’re out, someone he doesn’t know starts talking to him and giving him a lot of unwanted attention, he will put his hands on my cheeks and pull me towards him for a kiss. It’s obviously a security thing but it still melts my heart every time.
He can be a handful sometimes but he’s also funny, affectionate and incredibly sweet. I can hardly remember our lives before he came along; it’s like he’s always been here. And I wish so much I could just freeze him at three because tantrums and all, I love this age.
So…I’m going to be really sad when he starts school this Monday. He’ll go from 8-2pm every day, attending a speech-centered preschool program at our local elementary school. He talks and he can mostly get his point across but sometimes we just can’t understand him so this will be really good for him. But still. EVERY. DAY. I know some people are jumping for joy when they’re kids start school but I’m not there yet.
I met his teacher and she seems nice and his class only has six kids in it so he’ll get a lot of attention and I will volunteer as much as I can but I’m still really going to miss my baby…now an official preschooler *sigh*
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