Twenty-two Months with Alvie Bean

My darling Bean –

Once again, mummy is late with this. In my defense, I was so busy playing with you on Saturday when you actually rolled over to 22 months that I decided to NOT blog about it.

Every day you just kill me with how big you’ve gotten. You moved up to the two-year-old room at your daycare on the 27th of January, and then, due to a convergence of fever and snow days and a planned school closure for teacher training, have spent only six and a half days in that classroom.

The first time he’s ever willingly taken a pacifier – about 18 months after I’d completely given up on the whole idea.

You are so smart and funny. You love to put on mummy’s or daddy’s shoes and then – quite dramatically – fall down. You love to sing (Twinkle, Twinkle and The Itsy Bitsy Spider are particular favorites), read (‘tory, mummy!), count (to four! kind of), play with the iPad, and play the piano and guitar.

Guitar Hero


Tickling the Ivories


You are easily frustrated when things don’t go your way, and since your way is frequently dangerous, that becomes a problem more often than I’d like.

You missed a bunch of school in the last month due to illness (which you always share – thanks!) and then the snow last week. We had a lot of cuddles, which was nice.

Of course we make him take his own temperature.

Of course we make him take his own temperature.

You now believe in the magical healing properties of mummy’s kisses, and all injuries – real and imagined – require kisses. Also, all the broken toys need kisses. It was pretty funny until you started bringing me gross things (yucky! kith it!) like used tissues.

You are still hit or miss (sometimes literally) with the potty, but since you are still a little guy, I’m not too worried. You’ll get there.

You don’t really have a favorite lovey unless you count books. Your current “can’t sleep without it” book is an ABC book. We read it every night when you’re tucked in, and you’re pretty unhappy if that gets skipped.

A couple of weeks ago, you informed me that you were “Not a baby” and that henceforth I should refer to you as “Daddy guy.” I try to remember to not call you baby boy anymore, but it’s hard! Yesterday, I tried to convince you that you were “Mummy’s Boy,” but you had none of that. “Daddy guy.” So firm.

I can’t even keep track of your new words anymore. You just talk all the time. We haven’t gotten that elusive four-word sentence yet, but you sure do have a lot to say. You’re starting to be very polite. Please and thank yous. You remind us to say thank you when you’ve done something for us (such as emptying the dishwasher and putting away all the silverware. Of course, it wasn’t clean, but it’s the thought that counts, right?) I love when you ask to watch Dinosaur Train (my favorite kids’ show, too!) by requesting “Choo Choo DI.”

You’re fascinated with body parts, too, and love to point out cheeks and teeth and ears and hair and eyes and belly butts. You are starting to tell us when you’re hungry (thank you!) and need food. You’ve also started to tell me when you have an ow. Lately, your mouf and teef have had lots of ows. Those darn two-year molars are sure taking their sweet and tortuous time, aren’t they? Stupid teef.

You love to build and then destroy what you’ve built.

You loved our snow days. Every morning, just about the first thing you said to me (after ascertaining Daddy’s whereabouts) was “Thnow! Ou’side!”


And so, we played. You just walked around at first saying, “Thnow! Thnow! Uff-da! Thnow! Yay!” It was pretty awesome. It was a darn good month, even with the sick, is what I’m saying.

Thticks in the thnow

You could mellow out a bit, though. Not too much, but maybe just a wee, tiny bit of mellow? Please?

Is this mellow enough for you?

Is this mellow enough for you?

Of course, even if you don’t, I still love you, Baby Bean (ahem, excuse me, Daddy’s Guy).








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