It’s been a long time since my last post, and I have a hell of a lot to talk about. O is now 14 months, and i’d do anything to go back to the newborn days when he just stayed still and didn’t do much.
He is now walking, talking and throwing full on temper tantrums. The joy. Although, there’s secretly nothing funnier than watching a two and a half foot angry human chucking things about because you have told them that they can’t eat the coal from your fake electric fire, or that they can’t chew on the phone charger cable that is plugged into the wall. These are real situations, I shit you not.
I love his little excited face when he manages to get hold of the TV remote, and he runs off somewhere with it and you can hear him giggling from the other room. He has figured out that if he throws it at the floor with force, the batteries will pop out and he can play with them. Why do kids always have to make the easiest of things dangerous? I bought him his own remote, but of course he doesn’t like that, because it’s not fucking lethal.
I got quite emotional this afternoon, because I realised that I still refer to him as a baby, and in fact, he isn’t a baby anymore. He knows what changing his ‘bum bum’ means, because, like above, he runs off giggling somewhere or failing that, screams with horror. He knows when it’s dinner time, or when he’s getting a bottle of milk. He knows what no means, even though he chooses to ignore me. He says ‘mama’ when he sees me, and he can sing Row, Row, Row your boat. Well, he can say ‘row, row, row’ over and over again, if that counts. He can give us kisses, and he can point to his little cute button nose.
There are also some really difficult phases he is starting to go through, like spitting his water out like a fountain, throwing his food on the floor and hitting us in the face. His favourite thing to do is open the bin and pull stuff out of it, and he has also returned to the really irritating picking-bits-up-off-the-floor stage. I find myself constantly following him saying “Open your mouth!”, “What have you got now?”, “Don’t eat that!”. Usually it is a piece of fluff, but the other day he almost ate a fly that my cat had caught.. which has added more anxiety to my already stressful day to day life. In fact, he actually sat there the other day and refused to eat the dinner that I had made for him, and as soon as I got him out of his high chair, he picked some crumbs up off the floor. Aggggggggggh.
I must admit, having a toddler has absolutely made me realise that I don’t want another child for a while. Actually, we decided we wanted another when O was about 8 months old, and I am so pleased our efforts failed. It seems such a good idea when they’re little and cute. I feel sorry for those couples who decide they will have another before their singular child gets to the toddler stage, and end up having another who grows to be equally as demon like.
So sorry to refer to your little angels like that, Anna May, you absolute knob. (The daily mail article, for anyone who is not familiar. I will not insult you or my blog by linking to it)
But one thing I have realised is that the time goes too quickly, and although it is so incredibly difficult at the moment, one day I will look back and miss the times that he incessantly tried to stick his fingers in the cupboard doors, despite him already jamming them four times the same morning.
I have a toddler folks, and I don’t know how I feel.