Life will never be the same again, as a threshold has been crossed. And once crossed, it can never, ever be uncrossed.
Take this moment, for instance, as Bug took his first recorded steps.
We screamed in joy and fear at the same time.
Baby boy can walk!
HOLY SHIT, THE BABY IS WALKING!
Like a zombie from The Walking Dead…I give you…The Walking Kid.
Run. (Since he can’t…yet…)
We teach our kids to reach for their dreams.
Bug took that lesson quite literally today.
With his Superman cape around his neck, he pulled himself up on a window ledge…to put the sky within arm’s reach.
I love putting myself in his shoes — what must it be like to explore your world for the first time?
Is there anyone funnier than Amy Poehler?
In a word: No.
And putting the kids to put every night requires a strong sense of humor. So we turn to her to help us get us through getting the kids down at night.
[Note: All .gifs via www.giphy.com]
In general, I think keeping food products in a bathroom is all sorts of nasty.
Who wants to look at food when you are taking care of such business?
And who would find THAT food appetizing?
These days, however, having food in the bathroom is a necessity.
Beanie is working on her potty training. And she loves Annie’s Bunny Graham Crackers. Thus, Operation Bunnies in
the Bano is in full effect.
The Wife set up a brilliant rewards system, which gives Beanie quite an incentive to use the potty, and wrote it on a chalkboard outside the bathroom. Basically, the more she…ahem…produces…the more bunnies she gets. And it has WORKED! Her potty participation has increased each week, thankfully leaving fewer and fewer dirty diapers for us to change.
Of course, Beanie, being an evil genius, games the system and pretends to have to go potty in order to get a bunny. The “one bunny for sitting” rule has definitely been abused, but it’s also helped make the potty a happy place.
Beanie also tries to get more bunnies by stopping her…uh…stream…midway through, in order to cash-in, only to start it up again immediately after she eats the bunny.
But in the end, does it matter?
The bunnies have helped make the potty one of the happiest places in the house. We are changing fewer diapers and she is gaining confidence. That’s a win for #1 and #2.
It’s hard being a little kid.
You know what you want in your head, but you can’t always articulate it.
And sometimes, you know the words, but don’t know what they mean.
It works both ways, yknow.
Take for instance, Beanie.
Every morning when she wakes up, she says, “Daddy, I want to wear a…tutu!” [The fact that she awesomely pronounces it "tew-tew" makes it THAT much better.]
So I dig through her closet and show her tutus. “No, Daddy, Hava wear a…tew-tew!”
So I dig some more.
“No, Daddy! Hava wear a…tew-tew!”
And then it hits me: Beanie has absolutely NO idea what a tutu actually is.
But only wants to wear tutus.
One of the most beautiful thing about toddlers is their complete lack of self-consciousness.
They act and react purely – it’s brutally honest.
But sometimes, it’s amazing.
We, as a culture, find flatulence absolutely hilarious.
Someone farts, we laugh.
I always thought the humor was socially-invented – that a toot is this awkward moment where gases are stronger than the muscles keeping them in, thus, we laugh at those who lack said muscular control.
But I was dead wrong.
Farts are just plain funny.
Tonight, while getting Beanie ready for bed, she let one RIP! And then another one!
Instead of feeling embarrassed or ashamed, what did she do?
My two-year-old daughter lost her MIND laughing for a solid minute!
THAT’S how inherently funny the fart was to her.
Not gonna lie…I laughed right along with her.
A few months ago, I wrote about Kitchen Poop., when Beanie pooped on the kitchen floor around her second birthday. It was an…ahem…solid experience that Beanie dropped on us.
If that were the first and last time our floor was so fecally soiled, it would have been a miracle.
On Sunday nights, we like to enjoy a nice dinner as a family sitting around our kitchen table; usually, some sort of salmon is our main dish.
On this particular, nondescript Sunday night, my mother-in-law was in town from Texas. We had cooked a delicious spiced baked salmon, with broccoli and quinoa. A lovely meal, really.
The Wife and I were still eating and Beanie was playing with some grains of quinoa, while Bug was being fussy. My mother-in-law grabbed the Bug to calm him down.
Beanie asked for some more salmon, and as I was cutting her a piece, a strange, wet “splatting” sound range through the room.
The adults all looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
All eyes went to the four-month-old Bug, sitting on his grandmother’s lap, sporting the biggest grin of satisfaction any of use had ever seen.
“Oh my god,” said The Wife. “Bug pooped on the floor!”
And there is was, seeping out of his diaper into a gooey, nasty puddle on our kitchen floor, making a detour on my mother-in-law’s leg.
It took Beanie nearly two years to poop on the kitchen floor…and her baby brother did it in just four months.