apple pie

Drinking "appa pie jue."

It's no secret to me that our baby is no longer a baby.  I mean, he's just shy of 22 months old- the Big Two birthday is in sight.  He's running and talking up a storm and attempting all kinds of feats of strength.

He does many things his brother and sister did not do at his age.  Eating peanut butter, for instance.  The others had to wait longer for that.  On the other side of the mom score card, he still sits rear facing in his convertible car seat.  His siblings were forward facing within a week of turning one.  I'd like to take credit for that, as if I were all crunchy-granola- high achiever mom, but in truth it's because it lets him face his brother and sister in the van and that makes him incredibly happy.  Or at least, occupied.

And I thought he was turning out differently from his brother and sister in one other way, which I am now second guessing.  It occurred to me the other day that he was past the "dreaded 18 month season." My olders did not suffer from the "terrible twos," rather, their monstrous phases hit at 18 months and three years.  Mostly their twos were cruise-y. (By comparison.  Although wonderful and and beloved, they were no cherubs at any age.) And I was just thinking that maybe Little C was going to buck the trend, and be easy until sometime after his birthday.

Then this week hit.  And although he has not displayed the full-on tantrums and completely maddening illogical tyrannical demands that I remember (and I know will come!) this week has blindsided me.  Maybe. Just a little.  Dumped out garlic salt forming snowy peaks on his plate and the floor.  Pencil and crayon slashed across the cupboards and floor. Yogurt brought onto the carpet and spilled, although he clearly understands the rule that no food comes onto the carpet.  Running away with a screaming giggle when he is told to come.  And opening the fridge twenty times in the span of the morning. That one pushes my buttons pretty efficiently.

Still, he reimburses for those transgressions will all sorts of cute.  He loves to care for F's baby dolls, feeding them and covering them with blankets.  He blows adorable kisses.  When he does something wrong, like hitting, and he comes in for a hug and says "Haw-wee" right away.  (He doesn't make "s" or "f" sounds yet.) And perhaps my favorite of all: he kept babbling about apple pie one week, and I realized after a couple of confusing days that it was his way of saying "pineapple", which was the kind of juice he had just experienced for the first time. He still asks for "apple pie" juice. All the time.

I'm as ready as I can be, mentally at least, for the high energy stage he has entered.  And since he's kid number three, I won't be surprised at his transformations from innocent angel to naughty rugrat and back again within moments, repeated all day. I like this ride, and look forward to seeing the personal twists he puts on it. I just hope the surfaces in our home are as ready.

* Editing this post to add that I was just rereading things I wrote back in June... when I was complaining that C had just entered a "high maintenance phase." Ha! Somethings never change.