in regard to the barely twos

Monday, December 9

-3 -2 -5 -4 -1

The other morning I went to get Everett out of his crib. He was laying on his back with Wink slung over his shoulder, face down so that he could rub his back. Everett was whimpering.  
Winky sad! he said.  
Oh he is? I asked. Why is he sad?
Feender. Owie.
The day before, Everett had pinched his finger in the pantry door and had gotten some back rubbing himself, so it killed me to see him project his feelings onto his little stuffed friend, to empathize with him and then to comfort him so sweetly. Wink has been a great tool for success in this house lately. If Everett doesn't want to finish his dinner, Wink will nosh his way through Everett's plate making all sorts of monstrous eating noises. Everett will take a turn feeding Wink and then he'll take another bite himself, because CLEARLY this meal before him is super delicious. Diaper changes are also not a favorite moment of the day for anyone, especially not for the diaper changee, whom I find hiding behind the closest chair he can find when it's that time again. But when I ask if he'd like to help me change Wink's diaper first, he is alllll about it. We change Wink's diaper together, and then he lays down for Evett's turn.
The twos so far {the terrible twos as they say} are much more entertaining than terrible; a combination of glorious imagination and words galore and a fierce attachment to me. Which fierce attachment comes in the form of his tiny ever-beckoning fingers, telling me to c'mere! c'mere! when he wants to go somewhere else. And his requests for me to climb in bed with him in the morning or after his nap. And his nonchalant hold on my toes if we're watching a movie. And his arms around my knees, or his head poking through my legs, making his request: hold you! hold you! which really means hold ME. And his arms around my neck, tackling me from behind if he wants to wrestle. And his firm spot by my side when we go to play at a friend's house. And his fingers around my own, leading me to come with him if does want to play with other children. And the fact that the only thing that OFFICIALLY belongs to daddy in Everett's book, is bath time. And I. LOVE. BATH TIME. I've wondered about his sweet, incredibly loyal attachment to me. All sorts of things run through the head, you know, with your first. Am I spending too much time with him? Is that a thing? Is it because he doesn't have siblings yet? On especially clingy days, I'm just like, anyyyyday now! A sibling would be great! Just send one down! Or. Is it just his age? Every child is different, is it just his personality? Am I damaging him? Are his social skills and future imagination at risk because of ME? Or is it actually normal?
I know I'm going to look back on this time one day and think, remember when all he wanted was me? Remember when I made his world go round, and was his number one companion, and his happiest, giddiest smiles were to be found in simply running up and down the halls with his good pal, MOM? This is me, waving to myself in the future, reassuring myself that I know. I know I'm going to miss this, and I am treasuring this while it lasts. I am treasuring him learning to count to 10 by stacking my nail polish on the side of an open drawer. I am treasuring watching him, watch himself eat a sandwich in the mirror and laughing his head off at what food looks like in his mouth. I am treasuring him playing with my eyelashes and teaching him how to give Eskimo kisses.
It's just such a new world, this toddler thing, you know? You just always hope the highest of all hopes that you're doing everything right.


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