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Posts Tagged ‘parenthood’

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You are 16 months old.

Your favorite food is anything with peanut butter on it.

Your favorite toy (see photo above) is Mama’s least favorite because all it does is squawk out one of two songs when the button is pushed. Fortunately, Elmo gets tired and needs naps rather frequently.

You will eat banana from a spoon, but if we offer you chunks of it, you either squish it or ask for the peel so you can put it back.

You offer your bottle to Ned (your bedtime buddy) after every meal.

You make an “ah” noise after you take a drink of water. Almost every time.

You think Mama’s farts come from her shoes.

You have begun to say “hi” to other kids. When a shy, overtired preschooler ignored your greeting you followed him, hopefully saying “hi” over and over.

You like to scribble on paper, and you like to turn the paper over to scribble on the other side.

You like Mama to sing the songs on your music table. You indicate this by starting a song and turning to stare at her.

You are enraptured by ants and will throw yourself flat on the floor to watch and follow them.

You think running away when Mama says, “Please come here” is a very funny thing to do.

You squawk when refused something you want, such as for the dishwasher to be opened.

You fling your arms skyward and grab your head when asked, “How big is Baboo?”

You can reach the water dispenser on the fridge. And so we are thankful that we can lock it.

You’ve had another bad round of teething lately, waking up at night and skipping naps. You seem to be working on your upper canines now that your lower ones are in.

You have begun to ask for the same book to be read to you over and over. Lately you’ve been doing this with “The Snowy Day.”

You have begun to refuse certain books, most recently “Clap Your Hands,” which was your chosen “repeat” book a few days ago.

You now give Mama leg hugs.

You gave Daddy a kiss on Father’s Day when he asked for one.

You’ve had your first few trips to a playground and seem amazed and delighted by all the space. The first time, you spent about 10 minutes holding Mama’s finger and eating Cheerios, then you followed her when she got up to throw something away. And then you spotted the water fountain and headed straight for it.

You love to entertain us with silly sounds. There’s one thing you do with your lower lip that we didn’t teach you — and can’t figure out how to duplicate.

You are 16 months old, and you’re more fun every day.

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This stuff is super-gentle on sensitive baby skin, smells heavenly, and produces bubbles galore — and it works like a dream on overtired and cranky parents.

Or maybe that was the port.

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Many parents have said to me that the baby beginning to walk is a game changer. I see what they mean, but yesterday the baby expressed an intense interest in this:

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I would argue that this is much more of a game changer, if only in terms of the mental space I’ll need to dedicate to making sure the bathroom door is always closed and making sure the lid lock is on after every use. There’s already so much stuff taking up space in my head that cramming one more thing in there is a daunting thought.

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This morning, in order to distract Baboo from the sad fact that his beloved Daddy was going upstairs to shower, I asked him where Baby Boy was. (And yes, I know. We really should give this doll a name, but it’s just not very high on the priority list.)

The baby was still standing at the gate making unhappy noises, so I inquired again where the doll was. Then I asked if perhaps he needed a fresh diaper.

Well, that did it. Baboo went over and got the doll, and we checked his diaper together. Then we did and undid his shirt several times, or rather I did his shirt several times and Baboo undid it, because while he is very good at opening the little Velcro fastening, he’s not very good at closing it. And he loves to open it.

Baby Boy gave Baboo a few thank-you hugs, which he responded to by cocking his head to the side and giggling, shoulders up by his ears.

This, my friends. This is what I live for. This is my wheelhouse.

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