Kale was 2.5 years old on January 8th. I stopped counting in weeks within the first few months of Kale’s life, and I stopped counting in months around 18 months or so, but I still seem to notice half years. I noticed it enough to start this post, and I got busy with something and forgot all about it.
We get so many compliments on what a cute and pleasant boy Kale is. He is polite and friendly. He can be cheeky and funny and sneaky. He takes great delight in copying our behaviour. He sleeps well, eats well when we can get him to sit still, and has learned how to potty. He has amazing eyesight, and can spot a plane or a bird from far away. His current favourite toys are his tool box (a special post- Christmas surprise from me), anything with wheels, and my button box. Oh man, is he in love with my button box.
Kale’s never really showed regular “terrible two” behaviour. He has moments of absolute jerkery, and he has moments of jerkery caused by tiredness, not eating enough, and boredom, but for the most part he is even keeled and laid back.
I love my kid so much. He makes me swell a bit with pride when he says “please”, “thank you”, and “you’re welcome” unbidden. He makes me feel a little bit proud when another mom will say “Whoa, he’s potty trained? How old is he, anyway?”. Kale makes me feel like I’m getting a good performance review from my boss. He’s a good kid, so I can’t be screwing things up too badly.
The other day I snarled at Kale – he’d been bugging me, I was hormonal and pre-menstrual, and he just wouldn’t let something go. I don’t even remember what it was. But after the eleventy-billionth time of him pleading for something, whatever it was, I turned on him and SNARLED. I got out my pointy pointer finger and shoved it in his face and was sarcastic (!) to him and for about .2 of a second I felt GOOD when the tears spilled out and I thought “FINALLY! We can now move past the WHINING for FIVE FREAKING SECONDS!” and then I instantly felt terrible and gathered my little man up into my arms and snuggled into a chair and stroked his soft fuzzy head and whispered “Oh, my wee man… I am so sorry to yell at you. I’m sorry I got mad at you. I am so sorry to yell.” I felt forty kinds of awful. He’s not ever three and I tried to wage emotional warfare over something completely asinine. It’s hard to teach patience if you don’t emulate it.
Later that night, when I was putting him to bed and we were snuggling and reading stories, like we do, and I tucked him in with his bed friends and his blankies he looked up at me and said “I’m sorry I got mad at you, Mommy.”
Kids. They pick up everything. Even the stuff I wish we could forget all about. Everyone tells me this but it’s true: they grow too dang fast. I remember at one point when Kale was –><– this big, I remember crying to myself in my newborn mommy hormonal fog, and I remember thinking “My god when will this kid just bloody well grow up and stop being a pooping peeing sleeping machine?” and now, well, now I rue those thoughts. Kale is poised on the edge of pre-schooler, and seriously, where have the last two and a half years gone?
We just hired a nanny who is coming one morning a week. She’s a lovely lady – she’s a wannabe Grandma with no grandkids in sight, who is a teacher by trade and moved from the Ukraine a decade ago. Kale is already madly in love with her as he is madly in love with Miss Natasha, our teacher at Rhythm class (and more on that in an upcoming post) – does any age group feel things so hard as toddlers? – and so we have begun the outside world raising my boy. I feel good about it – I need some uninterrupted time to get some work done, work I love and work that seems to love me – but it’s another marker, another notch on the wall. This… this here? This is when my little baby became a boy.