BABY WEIGHT

My 22 Month Old…

… OMG: two more months and he’s 2.  As in “ALIVE FOR TWO YEARS”.  Whoa.  I’m trying to teach him to say and show “2” when I ask him how old he is.  I figure it will take him a couple months to perfect it.

… is about 27lbs now.  And tall.  Really, really tall.  So tall I can’t remember how tall the pediatrician said measure him.  He’s all arms and legs.  And he knows how to kick and hit.  Hard.

… is talking up a storm… in evanspeak.  Somethings I can pick up: mommy, dada, help, ball, hat, eat, baba, caca (color / cracker / Lilah – not that he’s calling his girlfriend a cracker), apple, car, dog, truck, choo-choo, book, baby, Dora, Gaga (Yo Gabba Gabba), bye, coat, shoe, etc… and other stuff I can’t pick up.  He will look at me very serious-like and point at nothing in particular and say, “Ahbe meh saa”.  I’m all: “Wha?”  Evan: “AHBE MEH SAA!” and stab the air with his finger that’s pointing at nothing in particular.  “Speak English, Evan. Show me.”  He’ll run into another room with me not far behind and point at another nothing in particular, “AAHHH. BEE. MEEEEEEH. SAAAA!”  Still at a loss, I distract him with this question, “Want an apple?” “Yes!  App-ah! App-ah! Yes!”  Crisis averted.

… understands almost everything you say.  This creeped me out a little.  If I was talking to him, I’d try to stick with words he knew.  I’d use simple phrases and show him a lot of things at the same time.  One day after he spent that last 2 hours whining about BYEBYE I said, “Fine.  Go get mommy’s shoes, purse and keys and we’ll leave.  I don’t know where, but we’ll go.”  Minutes later I look down at my son still screaming BYEBYE only this time he has my purse hanging off his shoulder, there is a pile of 3 pairs of my shoes and my car keys at his feet.  He managed to get his Crocs on too, albeit on the wrong feet. 

… will answer any question you ask him and try to do what you tell him to do.  Most answers to questions and requests to do things are “NO”.  Sigh.

… is just now getting into the picky eater phase.  When he started eating solids he would eat whatever you put in front of him.  Now he won’t even try most things.  You can let him sit in his highchair, you can wave a time-out possibility at him, you can do the flying airplane of food that flys into the mouth thing and nothing works.  HOWEVER.  I while ago I was eating a wonderful raspberry sorbet I wasn’t looking forward to sharing but couldn’t wait until bedtime.  Evan looked at it so I offered him a bite and he said, “NO!” and I said, “GOOD!”

… is kinda potty training.  I gets sat in there sometimes before bathtime and whenever he asks.  He has two books for the potty and I usually have to read them to him twice and then he will “read” them to me.   Then he wants to do Itsy Bitsy Spider and Wheels on the Bus over and over, (the horn part… no others.  Don’t even freaking THINK about talking about the damn wheels.  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Only!)  I bought some “big boy” undies with the intention of letting him run around the house in them and doing frequent potty breaks and using any accidents as a learning opportunity.  So I haven’t done that yet, but the intention is there.  That counts. 

… still gets a morning bottle and a bedtime bottle at home.  The morning bottle is going to be a tough one to break.  He’ll say BABA before his eyes are open.  Nothing like being woke up via amplified baby monitor to: “Ehhhhhbaaaabaaaa.  Ehhh… mah ba baaaaaaaaa.”

… has way too many toys.  He has a toy overflow room!  Not to mention his “Playroom” is my living room and my feet haven’t grown used to the legos yet.  Evan will help you pick up his toys… but then he will dump everything out again and put the container on his head and say, “HAT!”

… went raspberry pickin’.  Just me and him, Daddy was working.  It’s hard to pick berries whilst holding on to a toddler you guys.  And then when I told him that he had to pick the RIPE BERRIES?  Pfft!  It went downhill from there.  Luckily, they were serving cider slushies and that got me back into his good graces.

… is still in size 4 diapers and 24 month clothes… he’s getting DANGEROUSLY close to wearing 2T clothes.  He does wear some 2T jammies.  His 24 month pants adorabley fall down his legs all the time.  He’s a skinny guy.

… has a hand washing obsession.  If it’s quiet for too long I know to search the little downstairs half bath that houses his potty seat and booster steps.  He’s normally trying to get the soap to squirt on his hands or running the hot water at full blast with his hands in the flow. (!!!) I believe it’s time to turn down the temperature on the hot water tank.

… is taking showers lately.  With Mommy or Dada of course.  He does pretty good.  If you tell him to wash himself he washes his hands *eyeroll* or rubs his soapy hands on his belly and then attempts to stick his pushed out belly in the water stream.  Why isn’t he using a washcloth, you ask?  Well, I’ll answer.  He doesn’t like them maybe?  I don’t know.  He has no problem with us using it on him, but don’t you dare let it float around in the tub or hand it to him in the shower.  EGADS!  The whines go up about 10 decibel if you do that nonsense.

… has a problem with my singing.  I’m no Beyonce or anything but DAMN!  The minute I bob my head in the car and start mumbling, “Mah telephone… mah, mah, mah telephone”, Evan shouts: “MOMMY!”  I’ll stop and say WHAT and he’ll give me a look like don’t ever do that again. So I do what I’m told not to do (probably not a good example for Evan) and turn up the radio and sing louder: “MAH TELEPHONE… MAH, MAH, MAH TELEPHONE… When I’m out in the club and I’m sippin’ that bub then I’m not gonna reach MAH TELEPHONE!”  Evan screams: “MOOOOMMMMEEEEE!!!! NOOO!!!!  No, Mommy!!!”  The look… the horror.  I’m gonna be a great mom to a teenager.  *rubs hands together in an evil manner*

… had his first carnival ride.  He rode a horse that went up and down on a ferris wheel.  I think he enjoyed it.  I hung onto him for dear life and made all of the “OOOOOoooooOOH!  WHOA!  Cool!  This is fun!” sounds to make sure he didn’t freak the hell out. 

… is growing up just too darn fast.  I say this all the time but it’s true.  I want to make another Evan.  Once this one can change diapers and cook a proper meal of course.