Friday, November 20, 2009
Wes, Disarmingly Cute and Gunning for a Head Injury
I feel like Wes has be a little neglected here recently because we're between developmental milestones and every time I try to sit down and post something about him he does something dangerous.
I do not remember this being a problem with Charlie. I sort of remember him climbing on top of an ottoman and reminding him forty-five times a minute to get off the hearth, but constantly removing him from dangerous situations is not what I remember from Charlie's second year.
Well, we don't have a fireplace now and Wes is allowed to climb on that ottoman because AT LEAST IT IS SOFT AND RELATIVELY LOW.
Every time I pick him up from the church nursery his frazzled teachers say gravely "He's a climber." I went into the laundry room to find a shirt to wear this morning and when I came out he was suspended horizontally between a side chair and the buffet in our dining room throwing framed family pictures down onto the floor with great enthusiasm. If I turn my back for a second he climbs onto my desk chair so he can "type" and use the mouse (a surprisingly good imitation, I must say). If I dare spend thirty minutes in the kitchen preparing dinner he climbs onto my desk and avails himself of the items in the basket I have on the kitchen counter--pens, postit notes, keys, loose change. Not good.
His cholesterol is probably in the negative range because the only way I can do anything besides follow him around is to put him in his booster seat and give him Cheerios. The house is a mess, we're all living out of laundry baskets (and the dryer) and I spend twenty-five seconds selecting my outfit and getting ready in the morning.
That last one resulted in me finding ricotta cheese in my hair on Thursday. Friends, I made lasagna on Wednesday.
If memory serves, I just have to wade through this time until his receptive language and reasoning skills catch up to his physical abilities. The constant (and seemingly ineffective) redirecting and interrupted thoughts and inability to ever sit down or relax are starting to wear me thin.
Lucky for him he is also a snuggler and I am his lovey of choice. Tired? He sucks his thumb and buries his head in my chest. Hurt? He clings to me for dear life. He laughs when I walk into a room, he flings himself at me when I get him from his bed in the morning, and he mimicks my every move.
But I'm still going to say "I told you so" when he has little climbers of his own.
UPDATE: In the hour after I posted this I found him standing on the dryer door and on top of the kitchen table. Yeah.