Posts Tagged ‘toddler’

You may have to endure a proud parent bragging here. That said, I wanted to document my son’s development more for my own remembrance than anything else.

He is one smart little boy. His vocabulary has expanded exponentially from what it was when I wrote about it here, at 16 months. Back then he was saying one word at a time. Now he is speaking in 5-6 word sentences. Things like: “Daddy, Andrew’s mower right there!” His other oft repeated phrases are: “Go again.” “Open it.” “Daddy bike, Andrew bike…helmet.” etc.

He will usually repeat a word if he hears it once now. He also surprises us with things like, “Grocery store.” when we are pulling into the grocery store parking lot.

He can also count to 12. Yes 12. We were counting with him one night, and I expected him to stop at 3. I figured 1..2..3 was pretty good for a kid not even two years old yet. But he kept going until we got to 10. Then I really expected him to stop. I mean, most baby counting books only go up to 10. That’s how many fingers you have, right? What under two year old knows more than that? “Eleven.” he said, clear as day. Lydia and I looked at each other like, “How does he he know that!?” “Twelve.” Well now we are just stunned. But that was a far as he went. It turns out that the lady at daycare has twelve stairs that the kids count going up and down every day.

Today was the first day that he joined in and sang several portions of the ABC song. He usually gets ABC and then comes in again at LOP. But today he got most of the letters. Pretty cool. And he can carry the tune!

And now I will relate the dramatic story of when my brother stabbed me in the back. Yes, he actually did.

There we were on a pleasant weekend afternoon, me, my best friend, and my godbrother (the son of my godparents.) We had spent the hours after lunch turning my room into the perfect 10-12 year old play spot. There was the big pile of LEGOs all over the carpet. The discarded drawing pads from when we had our Most Awesome Jet drawing contest, and a chess game in progress on the bed. Go-bots (the less commercially viable version of Transformers) also made a showing. We were all deep in concentration when we heard a little voice out in the hallway leading to the door of my room.

“I’m gonna kill Danny.” my two year old brother said in a mischievous whisper. The three of us looked at each other, not knowing quite what to expect. On the one hand, Pete was only two years old. How much damage can a toddler do anyway? On the other hand, this was Pete we were talking about. El Destructo. The Terminator. The Master of Myhem. Mr. Booders. (don’t ask me where that last one fits in) Pete was a local legend in the neighborhood for having The most Terrible twos, EVAR. All eyes turned towards the door…

In an explosion of movement, my two-year-old brother kicked the door in and took a flying leap across the room straight at me. As soon as he landed, his hand swung around, and with a wicked scream, stabbed me right in the back with a flathead screwdriver. I writhed in pain, my arm reaching around to pluck the dreaded implement from my abused back. Luckily, it had only broken the skin, not penetrated too far. Pete was still all over me, punching and hitting. A cocoon of horror, writ in pudgy, little hands. I reacted naturally and kicked out, sending him flying back across the room to smash into the LEGO bin, a used Christmas popcorn sampler tin. You know, the ones that are two feet tall and have regular, cheddar, and caramel corn.

So Pete runs out of the room crying while my friends are looking at me in shock; like, “Did your brother actually just STAB you? Yeah…he did.”

The next thing I know, Mom is yelling for me to GET DOWNSTAIRS THIS MINUTE, MISTER! I exchange another look with my friends and hobble downstairs. After I explain what happened, I got the expected dose of sympathy when one nearly experienced fratricide. And that, as they say, is that. Do you have any fun stories of violence among siblings? Now keep in mind that the key word here is FUN. I don’t want to celebrate truly terrible domestic situations. But, everyone has a good story of when their brother attacked them with a tire iron, or nearly blew their ankle off with a quarter stick of dynamite. Stuff like that. So what’s yours?

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A few nights ago, I heard the sound that new parents fear in the middle of the night. A big bump, and then crying. Andrew climbed out of his crib in the middle of the night. I threw the covers off and ran in to find him lying on the floor, crying and shaken, but no worse for wear, at least as far as I could tell. Just about a month ago, I lowered the mattress to it’s lowest setting so climbing out would be harder for him. Obviously, it didn’t take him long to find a way to power up and over the railing. I mean, the top of the rail is still at chest height on him. I thought that would be enough. It wasn’t.

So we made the decision that we would rather deal with a new crib set-up and an altered bedtime routine (again) than have him fall out of the crib for a second time. I measured where the new rail would be, and Lydia got the old bumper rail that went on her bunk beds from her parents. I think it turned out rather well. I just need to stain it to match the color. Andrew can climb in and out and there are cushions there if he falls out. The bad part is that now he can climb out of bed and walk into our room.

We just got him used to falling asleep on his own by using the progressive waiting method. (one of the best thing we have done, by the way) Now, his routine is changed, but he won’t be falling four feet down onto hardwood floors anymore either.