Two days ago, you turned 29 months old. And the most remarkable thing I can say about you is that you have finally developed a thorough trust in the world. As a baby, you would cry every time I left the room, and those tears somehow seemed to shriek that there was the possibility that I would never return and you would be left in the middle of the floor ALONE forever. Finally, you learned to crawl, and I swear every time I left the room you would follow. S..L..O..W..L..Y B..U..T S..U..R..E..L..Y you would follow - and I always thought this was incredibly smart on your end - recognizing that you could now get to me should you need to, so it was unnecessary to pretend the world was ending when I left. Mind you, you still didn't like it when I left, but you had an action plan of how to deal with the situation and that made things bearable for both of us. Even over the past year, it's a rare person who you warm up to instantly and you definitely seemed skeptical of all newcomers. But this month, Connor, I am certain you trust the world. For starters, we went to your dad's parents home for 9 days and there was nary a day when you hung out in the background. Instead, you and Alisa were the best of friends, enjoying bowling, reading books, and playing. You were again excited when my parents came to visit for the week, and one day when they were here, we went to an indoor playplace and this place was a madhouse. Imagine if you will - something like 50 toddlers running around with the accompanying adults. You barreled right in and told Grandma to catch you as you jumped off the slide. You now seem to know that, at least for now, the world is going to take care of you. I only hope you're really old before that trust is violated.
You still seem to enjoy hanging with your sister, bringing her toys, and letting me know her mood. Your dad and I are both tremendously impressed that you seem to not be jealous at all of the attention she receives. You certainly join in activities that before you would've ignored because she's there and you want a piece of the action, but you show her nothing but love, and we are both grateful for that.
This week, we introduced two new games into your life and this is totally fun. For starters, I got a game of Candyland from a fellow Freecycler, and we've played about 200 games - and your record is impressive. It's almost as good as your dad's record against me in chess used to be. I don't know the number of days, but it was well over 100 when we would sit and play a couple of games of chess each night. Your dad had just taught me how to play and he won EVERY game. It was long after we started our chess obsession that I finally took a game from him. I seem to provide about the same level of competition for you in Candyland. But boy is it fun to pretend to eat all the M&Ms when you victoriously make it to the candy castle at the end. Lucky for me, you always share your pretend candy cache. Your dad also taught you how to play duck, duck, goose and though you won't be constrained by his idea of running in a circle, your rules are pretty fun.
The babies are still with us, though they don't seem to go everywhere with us anymore. They do, however, continue to pop up when it's convenient. Like, when I have too many things in my hands and I need you to carry something and lo and behold, you cannot because "I'm carrying my BABIES, Mommy!".
You attempted to master hopping on one foot - solely because of a tale your dad told you. One day, he was a bit drowsy when he was preparing for work and wore one shoe from each of two pairs. The next day, he left one odd shoe by the door which meant that each evening there were three shoes by the door, rather than the usual 2. Connor, you asked me about this third shoe every day. Until finally, I said "I don't know why your dad has three shoes. Ask him!" and you did. And he told you the reason there was one odd shoe was that some days at his office were "hopping days" and this meant that everyone had to hop around on one foot everywhere he went, so he only needed 1 shoe. I don't think you bought the story for a minute, but you did think his hopping on one foot was so impressive that you, too, attempted this great feat.
Your happiness is infectious, Connor. One day, your dad told your grandparents that he was going to go to bed at 8:00 someday, just so he could wake up with your energy.