Friday, September 24, 2010

Monthly Update: 20

Dear Foster,

This week you turned twenty months old, which means you're no longer a teenager.  Wait, what?  That's not what I meant.  Sometimes it feels like you're a teenager, though. 

Like when you ask your daddy for permission to do something that I've already told you not to do.  And vice versa.

Or, like when you want to eat junk food all day.

Or, like when you sleep in. 

There have been several mornings this month that you have slept until 9:00.  You might have slept longer, but your daddy and I draw the line at 9:00.  You know, we have to make sure you're up in time to go back to sleep for your nap at noon!  I mean, let's face it, I've got things to do and we both know that I can only get those things done when you're napping!  Otherwise, it's a constant back and forth between the two of us...

Mama! 
What? 
Mama! 
What baby? 
Mama! 
What is it Foster? 
Mama!
Whatchu want bud?  Use your words.
Mama play!

And, we both know that's not what you really want because as soon as I sit down to play, you're on to the next thing...

Mama!
What?
Mama...

This month was a busy month for us with a trip to the Smokies, our first weekend apart, your first day of school, and the start of my new job.  It's no wonder I've felt overwhelmed this month!

I try really hard to to make the most of our time together.  To teach you something new each day.  And to love on you all I can.  But, the little things start to get to me after a while.  Things like cleaning up messes ALL DAY LONG!

Not just your messes, but the dead spiders in the basement, the hairballs on the floor, the pet hair on the couch, the crumbs on the counter, the dust on the furniture, and the list goes on and on.  This morning, no lie, I cleaned up your spilled milk three times! 

I'm guessing whoever said not to cry over spilled milk did not have a toddler spilling milk all over the place, because sometimes all I wanna do is cry.

You've caught on to my frustration and whenever I let out a sigh or a growl, you're quick to imitate me, and of course-it's adorable.  Instantly, my frown is turned up side down!

My favorite, though, is when you imitate my "dadgummit!", or my "oh dear!",  or your daddy's "oh crap!"

School, er, Mother's Day Out, is only two days per week for about 5 hours, and not surprisingly, YOU LOVE IT!

The first day was a little emotional for me, but you didn't even look back as I left the classroom.  And now, two weeks later, you literally run down the hall to your teacher!

She says that you're a happy boy.  You dance when the music on, never cry when you're there, eat most of your lunch (without stuffing it all in your mouth at once!), and somehow, by some miracle, you're the best napper in class!

Here's where I'm supposed to say, "That's my boy!"  Problem is, that's not the boy I know.

Don't get me wrong, you're a happy boy here at home.  You dance whenever we turn music on, which is a lot since you constantly ask for it!  But, you cry here.  You cry, you fuss, you pout, sometimes you stomp, AND you're starting to throw!

Not only that, but you have a tendency to cram your mouth full of food here, so I have to be very careful not to give you too much at once.

And not only that, even though you're a great sleeper here, I had no idea how you'd do on a mat.  ON THE FLOOR.

You're used to your crib and you like your crib, so the thought of you napping on a floor mat worried me for MONTHS prior to your first day.  But, apparently, on the first day of school, you laid down and went right to sleep. 

What?  I mean, that's my boy!

I guess it's just another way you've been acting like a teenager lately... giving in to peer pressure!

Thankfully, I have a few more years before I really have to worry about that, and until then, I'm going to keep teaching you something new each day and loving on you all I can.

Some days you're a little puddle of fuss, but other days people stop their cars to tell us that you just made their day..."seeing that little red head dancing on the sidewalk!"  And, do you know what I say?

That's my boy.

xoxo,

Mama