Yesterday, he had an armload of airplanes that kept him entertained in his own little world. He systematically took off and landed each and every one, complete with appropriate sound effects.
to eat on his own, using utensils all correctly and what not? We were at a restaurant and he sat on the opposite side of the table. Not in a highchair, not in a booster, just...there, next to Simon, with a plate in front of him that was neither tossed to the floor, nor covered in water by the end of the meal.
to tell me, "Night, Mommy. Loz-zhu," every night as I close his door?
to get all his drink preparations out of the fridge all by himself? His latest trick is to bring us the whole gallon of milk if we aren't preparing his cups in a timely fashion. SO cute.
to care about money? He insists on having a coin in each hand at all times. He can spot a lone penny in a grocery store parking lot from twenty feet away. "Oooh, mah-ey," he says.
to backtalk? "Titus, where does poop go?!" I ask , every single time I change his diaper. He smiles and says, "Right dare," pointing to his diaper. "Wheeeeeeeeeere?" I ask again, smiling myself. "Right dare." "Titus, where does poop go?" I ask a third time. "In-a pah-ee." He knows. He's smart enough to be potty trained, but stubborn enough to have his handmaiden at his beck and call.
to play video games? That's the one that blows my mind. Sean hooked up his old Xbox a few weeks ago when we had some friends over. Much to my chagrin, it has stayed. I do not like video games for the distraction that they are. When a grown man wants to "see if he can evade the police" via a busted up old VW Golf instead of help me wash dishes, there's a problem. When an eight year old tells me, "Just a sec," when I ask him to run something up to his room because he's "busy racing," there's a problem. When a TWO year old shrieks when it's not his turn to waste precious moments of his life living through a rectangular screen that makes sounds, there's a problem. It was kinda hilarious to watch Titus drive through crowds and understand the hilarity of people jumping out of his way. However, it blows my mind that he even gets it. He's just a baby. :(
It just goes so stinking quickly. I am so close to being free of diapers and sippy cups and babiness, but my heart is telling me I want just one more. What is that about? The plan has always been to stop at three. Three is good. Three is awesome. Three fit in a booth. Three fit in a sedan, if needed. Three is doable and manageable and still on the right side of sanity. That last one? Mostly a lie.
I like odd numbers. I already have a lot of home decor with the number 5 on it. I have plans for the future that revolve around only three kids. And yet...
Sean is supposed to be my voice of reason. He's usually the one nixing my plans when it comes to more babies. He's the one that acts all tough. Truth is, he's made of butter and he folds like a cheap suitcase when it comes to his mini-hims. Yesterday, he said to me, "In all honesty, I was thinking about what it would be like to have a baby girl the other day."
Before anyone starts knitting baby booties, there is the small detail of our reality. If not for
and military life
and single parenting for six months at a time every other year
and missed birthdays
and my lack of patience these days
and the freedom of not packing a house if you want to go to a theme park for the day(how often does that really happen, though?)
and the ages of the other kids(a decade between the first&last if I was to wait a bit longer)
and the state of our world(would I really want to bring another kid into this?)
and the 150% chance it would be another boy(which I'm actually totally okay with)
and not knowing how our insurance would handle a home-birth with doulas or a midwife b/c that's totally what I'd want this time(call me a freak, I don't care)
then I'd have a house full.
While I'm at it, how is this kid old enough to be water sliding?
And how is this kid old enough to be jumping off of diving boards, while remaining completely un-smug about the whole thing?
This being a mom thing sure is fun. When I'm not losing my mind, that is. Or maybe it's fun because I'm losing my mind...?