About a week ago, you turned 34 months old. I actually started this post on the 12th, but then life happened, and now I'm a week late in getting this post uploaded. It strikes me that this makes you awfully close to 3 years old, and I cannot believe I am almost the mother of a three year old. Wow. Just wow. After also being shocked at how old you are, your dad announced that your intellectual development seems to have peaked recently, so I guess it's all downhill from here, eh? Or, more likely, your dad is an idiot.
This month, much like previous months, you ran everywhere you went. It’s as if you have only two speeds – fast, and off. Fast makes me laugh constantly because, really, Connor, is it that exciting to head to your room for a two minute break, or to grab a toy?
You are becoming quite a worm finder, telling me one day that you and Mrs. T. were both very good at finding worms. And indeed, you are. Hopefully you are not already aware of this, but Connor, I do not like worms. I only pretend to be enthusiastic so as not to pass along all of my heebie-jeebies about things like worms.
One morning, you decided you wanted a spoonful of honey for breakfast, and you knew just the trick to get it. You looked up at your dad, secure in the knowledge that though he might be able to deny you candy before noon, he could never possibly deny something you requested via a quote from a book. So there you were, quoting Winnie the Pooh, and promptly being handed honey. And this is not the only time you quoted from a book in context this month. You also woke up one evening and recited a line from a Dr. Seuss about how you did not like your bed because it was too small. This did not gain you entry into my bed, but it was a valiant effort.
And speaking of getting up, you still snuggle, Connor, and for this I am grateful. On nights when you’re having a difficult time falling asleep, you will come out and ask if we can sit in the yellow chair. This, the chair we sat in while you nursed for possibly a thousand hours, until you turned 19 months old. This, the chair we sat in a few nights when you had a cold and couldn’t sleep unless you were held nearly upright so all the gunk in your nasal passages could drain. This, the chair I used to sit in on weekend mornings as sun streamed in the window, your father slept, and I read the morning paper. Those were good days, Connor, but these are good too.
You have become quite good at walking on the balance beam, jumping wildly into the swimming pool, and in general pushing your physical limits. And, you have the scrapes and scratches to show for it (or 'crapes and crathes, as you would say). I think those 'crapes give you some good playground cred.
In spite of the fact that you can drive me completely insane, on occasion, I am still enjoying our days. It's still a bit heartbreaking when you ask me "is it your at-home day" and I say "no" on my work days, and you quickly look to your dad and ask the same thing, and he also responds "no", and you get a little sad about that - even though I know you have fun without us.
I believe you get the 'best sleeper in the house' award again this month, though we did have to turn the 'ol wake-up light back on, as you had decided getting out of bed before 6:15 was an acceptable action a few days.