You are 20 months. Or 21. I've honestly been trying to do the math for 3 minutes now, and I've given up. You are somewhere around one of those months.
You are kicking your crib as hard as you can and yelling down to me that you need "waaaayyyyyahhhhh Mamaaaaaa" instead of napping. For the record, I know you ain't thirsty, child.
You are on your third cold of the past month. It's really no wonder, because I take you to every single indoor play activity possible, the activities teeming with germs, it seems, so that both of us survive the next few long weeks of winter without going insane. You love going to the Discovery Museum, where you pick up nearly every piece of pretend pastry and take a good lick of it before I can stop you, reminding you that it's "just pretend" to which you usually say, "teeeeend?"
I never noticed how many trucks and airplanes go by or over the house each day. That is, until I had a toddler son. The garbage truck can still be on the next street over, and you hear it, racing to the window to see. Sometimes, the garbage truck sees you and beeps the horn, which leaves you utterly delighted and droopy jawed.
You enjoy being one and a half, most of the time. You are as unpredictable as Virginia weather. I never know whether or not the following will cause you to throw yourself on the floor in a tantrum:
1) Me closing the pantry
2) Me closing the refrigerator
3) Brushing your teeth
4) Flushing the toilet before you can
5) Giving you the snack that you asked for
I am mostly making up being a parent as I go along, but my newest tactic with you is to let you have your fit, but you must go to another place and do it. I say, "I see that fill-in-the-blank has made you very upset. Let's go to the other room, while you work it out." Then, I take you to another room and it's usually over before a few seconds.
I'm very pregnant at this point, which makes things comical at times. I often have to carry you like a "sack-a-taters" just in case you decide to throw a tantrum, so you won't kick your baby sister right in the face. I spend a lot of time squatting, so I can get on your level, play, read you books, give you "hungs" etc. If I sit on the floor, I'll ne'er return, or if I do, I have Braxton-Hicks until the next morning.
I really love being your mom. You have gone from baby to little boy, and somehow I totally missed when exactly it happened. You are going to be a great big brother.