After fifteen agonizing and very loud minutes trying to wrangle Wes into a clean diaper, onezie, and a pair of pants this morning and after a long breakfast where all of his favorites--his banana, cinnamon toast, and milk--were met with indignant screams and back arching then hurled to the floor, after I threatened him, exasperated, "You better pull yourself together by your eighteen month well-check or we're going to have to get you evaluated," only then did it occur to me to check his little gums for signs of new teeth. And there they were, two angry red swollen places where canines will be one day soon.
Though this particular stage doesn't stand out in my memories of Charlie's second year, I don't have to look far to find examples of him completely losing his mind for no apparent reason.
He's asleep now for his second nap after a long shopping trip where everything thrown into the cart unopened represented a crushing disappointment on the same level as would be me using his favorite blanket, which we call Smelly incidentally, to clean up my hands after changing the oil in the car. Like, "Sorry dude, we're not going to eat those dishwasher packs until we get home!"
And now Charlie is asleep. At ten till five. That is juuuust great. I hope his evening plans include writing a mini-lecture about Ohm's law because mine do.