Hooligan Zoo

Two Zookeepers… many Hooligans… It's always feeding time at this zoo!

Bouncing TODDLER boy?

on August 23, 2005

((First I gotta say that unfortunately there will be no pictures accompanying this post…  blogware apparently has pms or something, and will not really do anything for me.  Thank God I still have Blogjet!))

 

So, Ephraim, my little baby boy, baby no longer, you are now two years old.  TWO!  I mean really, there's just no going back from two.  Two is the brink of school.  The edge of toilet training.  The discovery of the power of words.  It is the edge of growing up.

You are infuriating, you are frustrating, and you have the most charming sweet little smile I have ever seen.  You have really been two for about 10 months now.  I think that you thought you should maybe skip that sweet part of being 1…  the cuddles, the kisses… the gradual growing up and learning new things, and dive right in head first to the terribleness of being two.

You are a tank.  You barrel into things without thinking about it first.  You are so accident prone that we actually considered getting one of those baby helmets for you just to wear around the house.  A little tiny tumble, and bam!  Your head hits first, and then you have another goose egg.  When I call telehealth to ask about your colds or things like that, when they ask me if you've suffered any blunt trauma, I have to honestly tell them you probably have.  How do you manage to walk into the same wall that has been there your whole life?

Ephraim, you took a tumble down the stairs this year.  Getting goose-eggs on both sides of your head.  You also had a string of bruises up your spine.  And all because your big sister was helping you put your shorts on…  at the top of the stairs.

Since we're chronicling a mere few of your injuries over the past year, let's talk about the gash on your chin that you did just last week.  How you were bleeding and cried for about 10 minutes, then were more mad that I was holding you down than hurt from the gash.  You fell asleep in my arms that day, and your sweet sticky little boy smell flashed me right back to when you were a baby sleeping in my arms.  You don't do that anymore, and I miss those days.

You are a stinky boy.  I don't know what it is about boys, but they really do stink.  We seriously have to get you toilet trained pronto, because I don't think I can handle those diapers anymore.  And your feet!!  Oh my goodness!!

You are not afraid.  OF.  ANY.  THING.  You smile and flirt at perfect strangers, you will just run away from me at the zoo in search of bigger and better adventures, not even knowing that I almost had a heart attack from the fear that there is a possibility I could lose you.

The only thing that might cause you some momentary terror is loud noise.  You like to say, “too loud, too loud!”  Even when your daddy is using the drill.  But, if you are the one pushing the button, then that's just fine by you.

Keyzia, your big sister, loves you to pieces, and you are her little clone, only in male form.  You have to do everything that she does.  You have to repeat everything that she does.  And, just in case she might get too big for her big sister britches, you frequently, every ten minutes or so, steal something from her and throw it through the cat door.  Why do you do this????  Is it to hear her scream??  Is it the drama?  You always have this little sh*t eating grin on your face when you do it too.  I never had brothers, and I had no idea that all the stories and fables about little brothers were actually true.  You seem to exist to make her life miserable.  But then you turn around and I hear your sweet little voice say, “Here Zia.”  And you give her your favourite truck.  If you wake up before her in the morning, the first thing you say is, “Where Zia go?”  Like your day cannot possibly go on without your sister around.  If she's hurt, you always pat her and say, “you okay, Zia?”

You are definitely a daddy's boy.  You love to fix things with him and you are enamoured with his tools, much to his delight.  You are so curious about things, but we can't show you how to do anything.  You have to figure it out for yourself.  You went from saying “Self, self!” to “MY do it!” and now it's “I CAN DO IT!”  As if there is no doubt in your mind that you can do it.  And really, there is no doubt in my mind that you can do anything you set your mind to.

I hope you keep that confidence as you stride into the world of being two.  I hope that you wake up knowing that you are going to learn or figure out something new every day.  You have taught me so much, my little man.  I am amazed at how the dirt in the garden changes colour when you put the sand from the sandbox in it.  How awesome it is when you put your own shoes on… even if it's the fiftieth time you've done it that hour.  I have learned that a boy's penis is his pride and joy from the time that he can reach down there and grab it.  There is joy in helping Oma pull weeds from the garden…  it it's not always the weeds you pull.  Going for walks with “Gampa” is amazing and wonderful.  He always tells you some fable that you bring back to me.  You have to call “Gamma” on the phone, and frequently ask to go to “Gamma's house.”

You make me furious every day.  You make me smile every day.  You make me laugh so hard that my tummy hurts.

I love you, little handsome boy, Ephraim-B, and I can't wait to see what the world of two is going to bring us.

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