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September 22, 2009
Eighteen months
Today, Owen is 18 months old.
My baby disappears more and more every day. He becomes less my sweet and innocent little baby nugget and more an opinionated, stubborn bundle of active personality every day.
The last few weeks in particular have seen a lot of change. His sleeping habits have gone in the toilet, with him waking up early, and then needing a nap soon after, which leaves him overtired at bedtime, which isn't helping him sleep later. He's being weaned, bit by bit, and it's making him angry, crabby and cranky. He's started throwing tantrums, which are likely fueled by tiredness, that last longer are harder to short circuit than before. Add to that last week's chipped tooth, this afternoon's bonk on a sharp edged shelf and tonight's teeth through the lip (AGAIN), and it feels like I'm caring for a screaming, abusive, accident prone little sex maniac.
Which isn't to say that Owen doesn't have his redeeming qualities. He's still cute as hell, and he can be quite the charmer when he wants to be. He's extremely well behaved, as long as he wants to do what you want him to do. He's thoughtful enough to throw food on the floor for the cat, and as a little snack for himself for later. He's sleeping through the night, at least right up until about an hour before he needs to be up. And he often blows me kisses without prompt as he's carried up to bed.
Owen is picking up new words every day. He loves to mimic the sounds we make, the ows, mmmms, yums and oofs. His verbal skills seem to be progressing more slowly than the girls', but then Jamie was a late talker who exploded verbally once she started talking. Owen started saying actual words a bit later than average, I guess, and while he is regularly picking up words, he hasn't started putting two words together except on rare occasions. He's polite enough to repeat the word "please," but amost never offers it on his own.
Food-wise, he's still crazy picky. What he loves one day he may refuse outright the next. With the exception of yogurt, I can't think of a single thing that he's guaranteed to eat. Applesauce, oyster crackers, eggs, Cheerios (preferably on the floor) and more recently grapes are high on his list.
He's picky, mercurial, loud, violent, exhausted, and when he holds my cheeks in his hands and plants a kiss on my lips he is my sweet, sweet baby boy.
Posted by me at September 22, 2009 10:15 PM