Brandon's now two. Not the terrible twos. Rather, the curious twos.
He will still take an afternoon
nap, but unless he's rocked to sleep, he'll entertain himself on the
bed, fighting to stay awake. One day he took his diaper off. Last
Monday he stood on the cabinet at the head of my bed, unscrewed a bulb
in the light bridge and used it to smash the other. I was close enough
to hear the pop and him say, "Oh oh. Grandma!" as I rushed in.
He innocently looked at me and said, "I broked it." After putting him
in the rocker ("I rock myself, Grandma") while I vacuumed the shards, I
reminded myself he can't be trusted to be out of sight.
Yesterday when I put him down and
his thumb went into his mouth, I breathed a sigh since I knew he'd be
asleep in moments. Minutes later I heard him carrying on a whispering
conversation with himself, and peeked into the room to see what he was
doing. Brandon was sitting in the bed, lotion everywhere. The travel
size container had been emptied onto his legs, hands and diaper. The
overflow was on the sheets and blanket. When he saw me, he casually
asked for a towel. He was unashamed and eagerly set about cleaning up
the mess. When finished, Brandon announced "All done!" and held up his
arms, indicating he was ready to be carried to the rocker where we went
back and forth until he fell asleep.
