Poor Historian

Adam and Doug are at the lake while I work my last long weekend ever. I hope. Day job’s a comin’, and with it hopefully more time with my favorite sleepy toddler.

I am nearly 28 and have never held a Monday to Friday day job. Wow.

All I know is, someone loves his naps lately. And his mom.

Dear little boy on another milestone kind of day:

You have what I’m calling your first phrase, little boy, and it’s a response to most questions. Where are your socks? Who made this mess? What is daddy doing? Invariably you will reply with “aDAN-NA!” I don’t know. Most of the rest of your language is based around the sound things make, like meow or woof or choo choo. But you’re a learning machine and every day you surprise me with new knowledge, or capacity for knowledge.

A couple of weeks ago we taught you that you had to wear your hat outside. We did this by bringing you inside whenever you took off your hat. You yelled, and you pouted, and you cried, but little boy we only had to do it TWICE before you figured out the rule and kept your hat on.

Some day perhaps you will either have a baby or work for a megalomaniac, and then you might get to feel the joy that comes the first time you teach that baby/megalomaniac something. After eighteen months of him throwing food on the floor or repeatedly climbing on the fireplace after you’ve said no or concocting ridiculous schemes to destroy the world, you will find yourself able to correct a negative behavior after only two tries, and no fist pump will EVER capture the joy you feel then.

You are almost all I know how to talk about. I have a life, little boy, in which I read good books and watch good tv shows and see awesome jokes on the Internet, but almost everything I put on this blog or on Facebook pertains to you and no matter how much I know that, I’m helpless to stop it.

You may not understand what 18 months old means, but you know today is a big day because it’s swingset day. I don’t know what it’s like for you, being constantly given such awesome presents. I suspect it’s not helping your megalomania any, but hush. New swingsets mean a LOT of swinging, and a lot of work helping dad and grandpa get all that gravel in place underneath, and then some more swinging, followed by passing out on mommy. Naps on mommy are rare and glorious, worth ever snot trail you leave on my jacket, trust me. We didn’t go with cosleeping and I’d make the same decision again if I had to, but it means that when you fall asleep on me like this my heart swells up and I never want to put you down again.

I am so glad you still adorably snore on me at 18 months old. For all your leaps and bounds in knowledge it is comforting to know that I’m still wanted and needed for cuddles and that, much as I will try and respect your official status as a little boy, you are still from time to time my baby.

This is what I walked in to at 7:40 this morning. Every once in a while he sucked his thumb. But it was a deep sleep and none of our pounding around the house waking up noises woke him.

I know some day sleeping in will be all he wants to do. But for now it’s rare and wonderful and worthy of photographing.