When West turned 1, I looked back and thought, "Wasn't he just born?" But, I don't have that impression today, his second birthday. He is far from that tiny baby I took home and was so scared of.
I know him now, his little personality. Some snapshots:
I hide his truck shirt in the hamper because otherwise, he'll pull it out and cry until I put it on him. Tonight, West weaseled Daddy into letting him wear his truck shirt over his PJ's and his Happy St. Patrick's Day tee over that. Yesterday he wore his truck pj pants over his sweats and his new striped tee over his sweatshirt. B.W.E. (Before the Weston Era) I smirked when I saw girls in princess costumes and tiaras strolling through Target. I smirk no more.
I could not gel his hair into the shape it takes after a nap - I love every last plume! (And it's a good thing, since any attempt to trim, gel or otherwise tame that plume is hysterically resisted.)
Plasma car. West still travels Fred Flinstone style, but I'm learning that this is a swift method of transit.
Today, the baby view mirror in my car revealed West intently pulling off his Crock's & socks to extract and eat the fuzzballs between his toes. Yet, he refuses most green foods on his plate. Perhaps if I stuck broccoli between his toes . . .
Finger up his nose and I believe I have seen some taste-testing as well.
Sentences. "Mommy; Chee-Chee." Translation: "Mommy, come play trains with me."
"Daddy." "Bye." This needs no translation, but the context is helpful: This conversation happens several times a day while Sam is at work:
West: "Daddy." "Bye."
Paula: "Bye, bye, Daddy; we can't wait to see you again. When we see you, we're gonna kiss you."
There is something in West that needs to rehearse what for him is a traumatic daily event: Daddy going to work.
Munching. I fold my lips over my teeth and munch his little arms and legs, and tummy and neck and he laughs until he's angry.
Repeating the alphabet. The perfection of his "s" amazes me.
"Go." I love to have places to go and people to see and I've created a little go-er & do-er. Whenever I ask West if he's up for a journey, "Do you want to go to church?", "Do you want to see Elizabeth?", he answers, "Dah". (We've a little Swede on our hands).
Picking all the m & m's off of his birthday cupcake.
His mathematical way of shooting hot wheels down his mailing tube. There is no shocked joy when it shoots through his room, through the hall and half-way into the living room. It's all science for him, just one car after another.
Focus. I love the focused face. Like Sam, his lips go into a slight pout for more technical tasks.
"Mump Guck" Dump Truck
"Doe Guck" Tow Truck
"Guck" Truck or Duck; the context usually gives me clarity, especially when he quacks.
"Chees" Shoes or Cheese. Imagine being handed cheese when you want to go outside.
"Ba-pu", "Ma-mu". These are always said tenderly and with a question mark at the end. As in, "Are Ba-pu and Ma-mu coming over?"
"Deat". Treat or eat. A finger jammed between his upper lip and his teeth sometimes accompanies. I've some serpentine wisdom; I always translate this as, "Eat".
"Tat". Pat or cat. I can rarely figure this one out, so we simply have a conversation about both Pat and cats. Perhaps West will forever think of felines when he meets a Pat.
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