I promised I wouldn’t turn this into a parenting blog. I’ve tried so hard to remain interesting without resorting to that. I tried to maintain this blog once a week. Now I’m lucky if I do it twice a month and it’s still a challenge to find anything interesting to say. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been riding public transit lately, and therefore limiting my exposure to nut jobs. Not to say that people in cars aren’t nut jobs too, but if I’m not in the car with them, it’s hard to catch them doing something idiotic for long enough to inspire me to write about it. So I have to write about my son this time. What can I say, I like him. I would probably write about him more, but to be honest I want to respect his privacy, especially while he’s young enough that he can’t make decisions on his own. That sounds crazy to most parents who flood the internet with all this ‘kid talk’, but I don’t want some chick he wants to date 20 years from now to google him (if that’s even a thing by then) and find out he did a bunch of weird shit when he was a baby, and his own father sandbagged him by putting it on the internet. I’ll have to answer to that. While he did bite me like a frigging vampire a couple of weeks back, I don’t think he had any malicious intent, so I don’t think there should be any retribution on my part.
My son is two years old. 27 months for those that count by months when the kid is over two, but if you are one of those people, you’re an idiot. Stop it. He doesn’t talk yet. No big emergency. It seems like a lot of kids his age talk, but he hasn’t quite figured it out yet. He knows some words. He’s putting together a few phrases. He’ll get there. I’m not worried. The things he has figured out seem crazy to me. If you’re telling him something he doesn’t want to hear, he’ll point at the door, and forcefully say “GO!” To the point where I’ve actually left the room because I didn’t know what else to do. He made it clear he doesn’t want me there, and if you heard him say it, he’s not fooling around either. So moody. I have no idea where he gets that, because neither of his parents get upset to the point where we order people out of the room. This kid’s got his own agenda.
Part of the not talking has to be my fault though. He’s too cute, I’m not even sure that I want him to talk. When he asks for ‘nacks’ I don’t even correct him, I just get him potato chips or something (yesterday it was Moroccan Spice flavoured chips, I shit you not, this kid will eat anything). Probably the most adorable thing that he does which I’m working on now (and please understand that I don’t use the word adorable, so for me to say it, it means cute to the 5 millionth power), is that he doesn’t count properly. He can count to 10. I’ve heard him do it, and when we do it with him, and prompt him, he seems to know which number comes next. In situations however, that require him to do a ‘ready set go’ thing, which numerically is represented by 1-2-3 or if it’s a countdown, then it’s 3-2-1…….. he says 4-8-10….. every time. It just makes me laugh, I can’t even correct him. I know it’s wrong, but its way more fun to go with the 4-8-10 thing. I mean, who cares??? Why does it have to be 1-2-3 anyways??? 4-8-10 are at least in ascending order. Plus you can’t correct him because 4-8-10 signifies some form of chaos which means he’s going to run away from you, throw a ball at or near the TV set, or smash a toy train into another toy train.
I guess the last thing would be picking him up from daycare. I’ve been doing drop off and pick up all week this week. It’s two very different experiences as most parents know. My son doesn’t wake up too early these days, and when I wake him up, it’s at the last possible second (because I want to sleep in too), at which point he usually tells me to “GO!” (and slaps at my hand) I usually give him a minute, but then we gotta get moving. When I drop him off, he’s less than 30 minutes removed from being asleep in his crib, so he slumps into his little daycare chair with his thumb in his mouth and gives me a dirty look as somebody passes him a bowl of cereal. When I pick him up I get a much different reaction. One that almost singlehandedly justifies procreation. He sees me, and drops whatever toy he was playing with, yells “DADDY”, and runs toward me. It’s like I’m a war hero in a movie, even though he kicked me out of his bedroom less than 8 hours earlier……. Now today at pickup the boy had a toy in each hand. One made of plastic, and the other of wood. When I walked into the room, he saw me, and threw the plastic toy to the side as he got up and ran over, but it hit this little girl in the face. I was super conflicted because my son was running towards me, super excited to tell me about the wooden thing in his hand (and thank god that’s the one he DIDN’T throw), and blissfully unaware that he had just pinged some other toddler in the forehead with his dramatics. There was no blood luckily, but an ice pack and an incident report were in that child’s future (she seemed OK when I left…phew). At some point I’m going to have to teach this kid not to throw his toys. We have to correct behaviour like that, but I can’t lie…. there was a small part of me that was pretty stoked that my son was so enthusiastic about seeing me that he was willing to endanger the safety of others to make it happen quickly 🙂