Last week, Seth made me the happiest mommy in the world. He patted my shoulder and said, "Mommy." I almost said, "Yes, I'm Mommy," but he continued to pat my shoulder and said, "Wuv you, Mommy." Yup, I cried.
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Seth warmed my heart the other day when he patted the bed next to him and asked me to "lie down." Correct grammar! Happy mommy.
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We got Seth a dog a couple of months ago. Noni. Here's a pic.
She a mix: Newfoundland lab and chow. Three years old. I'm not really into dogs (or any animal, for that matter), but I guess I'll do anything for Seth.
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Seth has graduated from saying "yeah" to saying "yes." Not sure why the sudden change.
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The other day (specifically, June 19 -- I'm behind in my blogging), Seth surprised the heck out of me and made me such a proud mama. We were on our way to Grandma's house when he looked out the window and said, "Two trucks." And sure enough, there were two trucked parked in the field!
He hasn't figured out "one" or "three" yet, but if there's two of something, he'll tell you. :)
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This is the one I made for Seth's birthday at Nana and Papa's house. That's an oyster on top. Honest...
This is the one I made for Seth's birthday at Grandma and Grandpa's house.
What can I say. They were made with love.
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Here's that eighteen-month well-baby visit I mentioned in another post:
We arrived and three siblings were playing with the toys in the corner. Seth was thrilled. Kids! He rushed right over, and the two older ones (about three and five) were taken with him and started leading him around. The three year old started hacking up a lung, and that's when I realized one important fact about well-baby visits: Not all the kids are there for them.
What's worse, the mother was chatting on the cell phone, and I overheard her say, "Yeah, we're at the doctor's office. The nine month old has a terrible rash all over her body." What? The kid who is hacking up a lung is not even the reason you're here? The child crawling on the floor next to my son has a weird rash?
I vowed never again to go inside early so that Seth could play with the toys.
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Seth is 36 inches tall and weighs 29 pounds, 9 ounces. He's in the 70th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. Big boy. I have birthday party photos to post, but I haven't managed that just yet. Heck, I have a draft post about his eighteen-month visit that I never even finished. (90th percentile height and 40th percentile weight.) So yeah, I'm behind.
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Seth is approaching his second birthday, so I had his two-year portraits done. Here's a single photo for those of you who can't view the slide show below:
And here's the slide show:
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I don't want to limit Seth by assuming he can't do something, but I still find myself underestimating him all the time.
And I always say I'm going to stop underestimating him (and little kids in general), but he still manages to surprise me. Take birds. He watches the birds eating from the feeders outside our window, and he can correctly identify finches, mourning doves (he just says "doves"), and woodpeckers (he calls them "peckers" -- love it). He also recognizes humming birds, but he thinks they're "peckers," I guess due to the long beak. We're also working on red breasted grossbeaks. "Grossbeak" is a pretty hard word to say, though, and we don't see too many of them, so it might take awhile. Or maybe I'm just underestimating him again...
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Seth seems to think that flying bugs are called fuzzies. We have a wasp problem in our porch. As he watched one flying around, he kept saying, "Fuzzy!" (Fuh-ZEE!) He said the same thing the other night when we were driving home and he spotted some moths in the headlights.
I have no idea where the word come from, but I love it.
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When Seth hurts himself, he says, "Sorry," or sometimes, "Ouch! Sorry." It's really cute.
He's not actually apologizing to himself. You see, if Daddy or I hurt him by accident—for example, a couple of days ago I was rounding the corner with Seth in my arms and I ended up bumping his head against the corner—we naturally say, "Oh, Seth! I'm sorry." And we hug him and kiss it and make it better.
So now Seth thinks "sorry" means, "It hurts!"
Slightly related: He thinks "heavy" applies to any activity that is difficult. So if, for example, I'm struggling to open a jar of pickles, he'll say, "Hovy!" That's how he pronounces it.
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Not sure how to spell it, but it rhymes with "pushed." (Update: Well, whataya know. It's a real word that can be pronounced to rhyme with "pushed" or with a regular "oo" sound, like "boo.")
Two nights ago, Seth squeezed in between Bob and me on the loveseat and, apparently, one of us shifted our weight and started to squish the poor little guy. "Squooshed!"
It's quite a versatile word, too, because the next morning I zipped his zipper way up under his chin. Seth hates that, but it was coooooold outside, so mommy instincts took over. He promptly cried, "Squooshed! Squooshed!" I relented.
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Yesterday he bit me. Can you believe it? My sweet baby boy bit me, and even though it was through my t-shirt, he broke the skin. And then he seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction.
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He loves this song. Statue is real.
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One of the greatest feelings in the world is when I finish singing a song to Seth, who always listens in rapt attention all the while despite my terrible voice and utter tone deafness, and he looks at me and says, "'Gin."
His favorite song right now is "This Little Light of Mine."
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Last weekend, I had the mortifying experience of hearing my toddler say those words at Grandma's house. "Fuck, fffffffuck." Extra emphasis on the "f" and "k." Unmistakable. Grandma was properly horrified. "What did he just say?" I replied that maybe he was trying to say "truck." Lame, I know, especially since the boy has been properly saying "truck" for months. But what can I say? I don't think well when mortified, and worse, I didn't want to admit the truth: that he must've heard one of his parents say it.
Yes, it's true. Most people think I don't swear because I don't do so in regular conversation. But when I sit in front of my computer working on something that isn't going well, or reading a frustrating e-mail from a coworker, really bad words come out of my mouth. It's a habit I haven't been able to break. I didn't think I ever said anything unsavory in front of Seth, but his new favorite word said otherwise.
Bob says the word from time to time when he gets really mad over something, such as trying to replace a part on a vehicle but breaking another part in the process. A fifty-dollar mistake will do that to a man. But what the heck? Surely Seth had heard his Daddy say "shit" many more times than the f-word, yet he wasn't walking around saying "shit" for fun.
I thought perhaps he heard it on television. Bob and I haven't regulated our viewing habits at all, which is how Jon Stewart from the Daily Show recently taught my little boy how to say "dammit." So yeah, that must be it, right? We must've been watching an R-rated movie. Seth didn't hear it from us. It must've been the TV. (This is known as "grasping at straws.")
I've spent a week lamenting over this. Out of nowhere the kid will start saying it. At first I tried ignoring him, but the word seem to hold a special fascination, despite the fact that I purposely made sure I didn't overreact. I didn't want him to learn that Mommy had a special freak-out button and all he had to do was swear. When ignoring didn't work, I started to correct him. "No, Seth. That's a bad word. It's naughty." Out of desperation, I even began to offer other words he could say instead. "Seth, don't say that. You can say, 'shoot.'" This backfired monumentally because later on I became upset over something and shouted, "Shoot!" Seth replied, "Fuck."
Yesterday, the mystery was finally solved. I learned the source of the dreaded word. Care to guess?
We were in the living room together when he picked up his stuffed animal and said, "Fock." So after all this agony, it turns out my little guy just can't quite say "frog."
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Seth helps Great Uncle Jim clean the pellet stove.
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A few days ago Seth and I were driving down the road when he spotted a pickup truck.
SETH: Caaaaarrrrr.
ME: Very good. It looks like a car. That's a truck. Can you say truck?
SETH: Yeah! [Implied: Ha! Not the response you were looking for, is it?]
ME: Say truck.
SETH: [Silence]
Now, I know the kid can say "truck" because he says it whenever he sees Baby Daddy's truck. He just likes to toy with me.
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