22 Months
Henry had a big month and handled it with aplomb. We always worry
that he is going to be a wild man after any significant change in our
routine and every time he surprises us by being as cool as a cucumber. I
guess we should give him more credit and stop being surprised by his
easygoing nature.
We are having lots of fun watching Henry's imagination develop. The scenarios get a little more detailed and sophisticated every week. Lately he likes to pretend he is baking pie. He removes it from the imaginary oven (using his imaginary OveGloves) located next to the fireplace in the living room and feeds bites to everyone, including Ingrid.
He also started telling us little fibs this month. He's not very good at it, because he gives us a very obvious smirking sidelong glance when he is intentionally trying to pull one over on us, which is quite distinct from the times when we ask him something and he gives an incorrect but totally innocent answer. Yesterday he asked Karl for a Tums, which are still a prominent feature in our house as a remnant of my pregnancy. Henry knows full well he can only have one a day, and knows it so well that he usually points at the Tums bottle with his chubby little finger and says, "One every day." Karl asked how many he could have. Henry flashed the smirk and said, "Two." And when we're eating dinner I often tell him he can have more of something when he eats two bites of some disfavored food (usually meat these days). He often rams two bites in his mouth, chews them up, spits the glob into his hand, and flashes the smirk while sliding his hand down the side of his chair. I assume this is part and parcel with his increasing ability to imagine alternate realities, but it's a little frightening that he is already trying to dirt us.
The major change in Henry's linguistic repertoire is using many different tones of voice. First there was talking, then talking at different volumes, and now we have talking, calling, almost-singing, joking, and whining. Lots and lots of whining. I read somewhere that a newborn's cry is perfectly pitched to make you feel compelled to go and help the baby. I'm not sure what parental response the whining is calculated to elicit. Seems evolutionarily disadvantageous to talk in a way that makes your parents want to throttle you.
Random funny happenings this month:
We are having lots of fun watching Henry's imagination develop. The scenarios get a little more detailed and sophisticated every week. Lately he likes to pretend he is baking pie. He removes it from the imaginary oven (using his imaginary OveGloves) located next to the fireplace in the living room and feeds bites to everyone, including Ingrid.
He also started telling us little fibs this month. He's not very good at it, because he gives us a very obvious smirking sidelong glance when he is intentionally trying to pull one over on us, which is quite distinct from the times when we ask him something and he gives an incorrect but totally innocent answer. Yesterday he asked Karl for a Tums, which are still a prominent feature in our house as a remnant of my pregnancy. Henry knows full well he can only have one a day, and knows it so well that he usually points at the Tums bottle with his chubby little finger and says, "One every day." Karl asked how many he could have. Henry flashed the smirk and said, "Two." And when we're eating dinner I often tell him he can have more of something when he eats two bites of some disfavored food (usually meat these days). He often rams two bites in his mouth, chews them up, spits the glob into his hand, and flashes the smirk while sliding his hand down the side of his chair. I assume this is part and parcel with his increasing ability to imagine alternate realities, but it's a little frightening that he is already trying to dirt us.
The major change in Henry's linguistic repertoire is using many different tones of voice. First there was talking, then talking at different volumes, and now we have talking, calling, almost-singing, joking, and whining. Lots and lots of whining. I read somewhere that a newborn's cry is perfectly pitched to make you feel compelled to go and help the baby. I'm not sure what parental response the whining is calculated to elicit. Seems evolutionarily disadvantageous to talk in a way that makes your parents want to throttle you.
Random funny happenings this month:
- We had Karl's college friends over for their Fantasy draft on Sunday and someone brought a 2-pound bag of Skittles. Henry does not normally get many sweets and when he does, it's usually baked goods. Certainly not unadulterated refined sugar featuring red dye #40. But in the spirit of the draft, we let him eat Skittles. At one point he walked over to Karl, showed him the Skittles in his hand, and said in a profoundly serious voice, "I love them."
- A couple of weeks ago, Henry woke up in the wee hours of the morning just wailing. He very rarely wakes up at night and even more rarely wakes up that sad, so Karl rushed into his room. Henry was clutching at his pajama shirt like he was trying to rend his garments and wailing, "NO ALLIGATOR! NO ALLIGATOR! BI! CY! CLLLLLLE!" Karl took off Henry's alligator pajama shirt, swapped it for the bicycle pajama shirt, and Henry calmly went back to bed.
- Usually we're Mommy and Daddy, but if he's calling us from another room, we're Show-bee and Color. Now I know why parents start calling each other Mommy and Daddy.
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| Enjoying a little Epstein after dinner. |
Funny stuff! Sam called us "Todd & Kim" for a loooong time.
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