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22 months
So almost two weeks ago, the prince was 22 months old.
He's growing super fast - I just bought him a whole new wardrobe, and he can reach more and more things, including (1) anything within a couple inches of the edge of the kitchen counter and (2) the deadbolt on the back door. Fortunately, he doesn't yet know how to work the lock on the back door handle itself; but outside is one of his favorite places to be, so I feel like we're going to need to get some gate action on either side of the house soon so a kid in the back yard can't get around to the front yard without an adult knowing about it.
He's 99.9% totally sweet, but he has entered a phase where he hits me when he's displeased with something. This is age-appropriate swatting, and most of the time I can remind him (insistently) that We Do Not Hit In This Family and then hold him tight and restrain his little arms if he keeps doing it. Only the other night he became furious when I went to change his diaper at bedtime. (Fair enough: He'd been having some mild digestive excitement, and three or four days of runny, mildly caustic diaper action will leave a rash on a baby's butt. He didn't want me to change his diaper because he knew it was going to hurt. He's only not-even-two, so he doesn't know that it will hurt worse if I don't change it and that I'm going to slather soothing diaper cream all over it before putting on the nice dry clean diaper.) He's thrashing and arching his back and trying to roll over and he's in serious danger of pitching himself off the changing table - and the filthy diaper is half undone, so I can't just pick him up until he gets his (excuse the expression) shit together. I have to hold him down and figure out a way to hold his kicking legs in one hand so I can clean him up with a wipe in the other hand - which leaves his hands free to smack me. Hard. Right in the face.
Friends, I leaned right over him and got right in his face and did blazing angry Mom Eyes and lowered my voice about two octaves and said "You stop that right now." And he just criiied. Poor bug.
I mean I think he's almost old enough that this crying was a combination of (a) being upset that I was mad at him and (b) recognizing that he had done a wrong thing. (We have friends who tell a story of a time when their daughter, from her car seat in the back, sassed her father so badly that he pulled over before asking "What did you just say to me?!" and before the car had even stopped she had burst into tears. I believe that even very young children know how boundary testing works - that is, they can tell they've crossed a line often before we tell them.) I took advantage of the first minute to finish cleaning him up and changing his diaper, because when he's lying there wailing he's not thrashing and kicking his feet into a heap of poop and so on. And then I picked him up and snuggled him and reminded him that we love him very much but hitting is Not Okay and hugs hugs hugs and asked if he was ready for jammies, and he said yes and got both arms into the sleeves before changing his mind and rolling over and literally lying face down kicking his feet. So getting his legs into the jammies was a bit of a wrestling match, and I had to tip his head back and put his vitamin drops pretty much straight down his throat, but after that he was okay.
Other than that he is charming. And adorable. And learning so much so fast. Holy carp, children's minds, y'all.
He's growing super fast - I just bought him a whole new wardrobe, and he can reach more and more things, including (1) anything within a couple inches of the edge of the kitchen counter and (2) the deadbolt on the back door. Fortunately, he doesn't yet know how to work the lock on the back door handle itself; but outside is one of his favorite places to be, so I feel like we're going to need to get some gate action on either side of the house soon so a kid in the back yard can't get around to the front yard without an adult knowing about it.
He's 99.9% totally sweet, but he has entered a phase where he hits me when he's displeased with something. This is age-appropriate swatting, and most of the time I can remind him (insistently) that We Do Not Hit In This Family and then hold him tight and restrain his little arms if he keeps doing it. Only the other night he became furious when I went to change his diaper at bedtime. (Fair enough: He'd been having some mild digestive excitement, and three or four days of runny, mildly caustic diaper action will leave a rash on a baby's butt. He didn't want me to change his diaper because he knew it was going to hurt. He's only not-even-two, so he doesn't know that it will hurt worse if I don't change it and that I'm going to slather soothing diaper cream all over it before putting on the nice dry clean diaper.) He's thrashing and arching his back and trying to roll over and he's in serious danger of pitching himself off the changing table - and the filthy diaper is half undone, so I can't just pick him up until he gets his (excuse the expression) shit together. I have to hold him down and figure out a way to hold his kicking legs in one hand so I can clean him up with a wipe in the other hand - which leaves his hands free to smack me. Hard. Right in the face.
Friends, I leaned right over him and got right in his face and did blazing angry Mom Eyes and lowered my voice about two octaves and said "You stop that right now." And he just criiied. Poor bug.
I mean I think he's almost old enough that this crying was a combination of (a) being upset that I was mad at him and (b) recognizing that he had done a wrong thing. (We have friends who tell a story of a time when their daughter, from her car seat in the back, sassed her father so badly that he pulled over before asking "What did you just say to me?!" and before the car had even stopped she had burst into tears. I believe that even very young children know how boundary testing works - that is, they can tell they've crossed a line often before we tell them.) I took advantage of the first minute to finish cleaning him up and changing his diaper, because when he's lying there wailing he's not thrashing and kicking his feet into a heap of poop and so on. And then I picked him up and snuggled him and reminded him that we love him very much but hitting is Not Okay and hugs hugs hugs and asked if he was ready for jammies, and he said yes and got both arms into the sleeves before changing his mind and rolling over and literally lying face down kicking his feet. So getting his legs into the jammies was a bit of a wrestling match, and I had to tip his head back and put his vitamin drops pretty much straight down his throat, but after that he was okay.
Other than that he is charming. And adorable. And learning so much so fast. Holy carp, children's minds, y'all.
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