Two
After two full weeks of birthday celebrations, Henry will now proudly say, "Two!" when you ask how old he is. He holds up his little starfish hand and says, "See my two?" He knows which fingers are supposed to go up but can't make his hand do it, so he wants you to fold in the other two fingers and thumb for him.
At first blush two doesn't seem so different than one. On his birthday last year I looked back at his first pictures and had to search to see his toddler features in his newborn face, but the pictures from one year ago aren't so different from the ones from this month. A little chubbier, hair a little redder, but Henry looked like Henry. He was already acting like a toddler. And then I realize that a year ago he had just uttered his first couple of words, and now we have this charming little conversationalist who says things like "I don't like the car was beeping," "I big and strong like Daddy," and "I love blackberries too, Mommy." That seems just as momentous as learning to roll over, stand, and walk.
He loves to sing and knows all or most of the words to about a dozen simple songs now. Each night he puts himself to sleep by singing at the top of his lungs for about 20 minutes. Sometimes I can hear him from the basement even without turning the monitor on. The boy is a performer in need of an audience. He just recently started making up his own nonsense lyrics to the tunes of real songs, which completely amazes me. It seems very sophisticated to understand that the lyrics and the melody are independent of one another.
His pretend scenarios are getting more and more enchanting. He loves the play kitchen that g/g Jane and Alan gave him for his birthday and concocts all kinds of stories about going to the grocery store and cooking breakfast. Sometimes he makes up scenes without any props to prompt him; a couple of days ago he was climbing on a chair and told me that he was a lion, then told me I was a lion too and instructed me to roar. I asked him if Ingrid was a lion too but was informed that the baby was a baby and not a lion.
We talk a lot about what has happened each day and what will happen in the future. He likes to hash out anything significant that has happened, and if I explain something out of the ordinary, he wants me to repeat it over and over again. Today I told him that Grandma and Grandpa would come back for Thanksgiving and gave him a three-sentence overview of what would happen on Thanksgiving. He asked for the explanation again and again until we had covered it about ten times.
He really internalized the magic words this month and loves to practice his pleases and thank yous. When he "kanks" you for something, he gives it so much emotion that you feel like giving him that milk was the greatest gift ever bestowed on someone. He also says, "Yes, sir," which leads unsuspecting strangers to believe that we're raising a southern gentleman. We don't tell them that he learned it from Baa Baa Black Sheep and uses "sir" regardless of whether he's addressing a man or a woman.
He swings wildly from heartbreakingly sweet to completely crazy. You may have noticed that the professional photographer called Henry "the fastest two year old I've ever met," which is a really tactful way of saying, "your kid is a nutjob." And sometimes he is. But then he slows down and gives the sweetest hugs and cuddles, and he can be very sensitive to Ingrid crying. When she gets upset he likes to pat her and say, "It's okay, baby." He also tells me to go get her when he hears her crying in another room.
We are afraid he might be unpunishable. He gets time out for certain uncivilized behavior, all of which he knows perfectly well. For instance, he is not allowed to put his feet on the table at dinner. So sometimes he asks me, "Feet on the table?" I tell him no, and then he flings his feet up onto the table, smiles at me, and says, "Time out."
He still loves reading and is especially fond of his books of his poems now. When we read the story books, he chimes in when we get to his favorite passages. He also just started telling little stories of his own while he holds the book. Tonight we were reading in Ingrid's room and he pulled out a book to read to us. He told the following story: "Once upon a time there was little Henry. And there Mommy and there Daddy. The end." It was so sweet that I started tearing up a little. He was stark naked but for his cowboy boots. So sweet, so silly. So two.
At first blush two doesn't seem so different than one. On his birthday last year I looked back at his first pictures and had to search to see his toddler features in his newborn face, but the pictures from one year ago aren't so different from the ones from this month. A little chubbier, hair a little redder, but Henry looked like Henry. He was already acting like a toddler. And then I realize that a year ago he had just uttered his first couple of words, and now we have this charming little conversationalist who says things like "I don't like the car was beeping," "I big and strong like Daddy," and "I love blackberries too, Mommy." That seems just as momentous as learning to roll over, stand, and walk.
He loves to sing and knows all or most of the words to about a dozen simple songs now. Each night he puts himself to sleep by singing at the top of his lungs for about 20 minutes. Sometimes I can hear him from the basement even without turning the monitor on. The boy is a performer in need of an audience. He just recently started making up his own nonsense lyrics to the tunes of real songs, which completely amazes me. It seems very sophisticated to understand that the lyrics and the melody are independent of one another.
His pretend scenarios are getting more and more enchanting. He loves the play kitchen that g/g Jane and Alan gave him for his birthday and concocts all kinds of stories about going to the grocery store and cooking breakfast. Sometimes he makes up scenes without any props to prompt him; a couple of days ago he was climbing on a chair and told me that he was a lion, then told me I was a lion too and instructed me to roar. I asked him if Ingrid was a lion too but was informed that the baby was a baby and not a lion.
We talk a lot about what has happened each day and what will happen in the future. He likes to hash out anything significant that has happened, and if I explain something out of the ordinary, he wants me to repeat it over and over again. Today I told him that Grandma and Grandpa would come back for Thanksgiving and gave him a three-sentence overview of what would happen on Thanksgiving. He asked for the explanation again and again until we had covered it about ten times.
He really internalized the magic words this month and loves to practice his pleases and thank yous. When he "kanks" you for something, he gives it so much emotion that you feel like giving him that milk was the greatest gift ever bestowed on someone. He also says, "Yes, sir," which leads unsuspecting strangers to believe that we're raising a southern gentleman. We don't tell them that he learned it from Baa Baa Black Sheep and uses "sir" regardless of whether he's addressing a man or a woman.
He swings wildly from heartbreakingly sweet to completely crazy. You may have noticed that the professional photographer called Henry "the fastest two year old I've ever met," which is a really tactful way of saying, "your kid is a nutjob." And sometimes he is. But then he slows down and gives the sweetest hugs and cuddles, and he can be very sensitive to Ingrid crying. When she gets upset he likes to pat her and say, "It's okay, baby." He also tells me to go get her when he hears her crying in another room.
We are afraid he might be unpunishable. He gets time out for certain uncivilized behavior, all of which he knows perfectly well. For instance, he is not allowed to put his feet on the table at dinner. So sometimes he asks me, "Feet on the table?" I tell him no, and then he flings his feet up onto the table, smiles at me, and says, "Time out."
He still loves reading and is especially fond of his books of his poems now. When we read the story books, he chimes in when we get to his favorite passages. He also just started telling little stories of his own while he holds the book. Tonight we were reading in Ingrid's room and he pulled out a book to read to us. He told the following story: "Once upon a time there was little Henry. And there Mommy and there Daddy. The end." It was so sweet that I started tearing up a little. He was stark naked but for his cowboy boots. So sweet, so silly. So two.
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