Tru seems to have grown up more in the past month than in the past year. He has so crossed the line into big-boyhood. When he turned one, he was inching towards the line, sometimes straddling it with one foot on each side, and sometimes retiring into the safety of babyness. He would threaten to cut off the apron strings and assert his independence one moment and next thing I knew, he was back to the familiarity of being mama’s baby boy.
But all I did was blink and now I’ve got this 2-year-old boy stuck in a 16-month-old body. It’s like one day he just decided to grow up and *poof* there went my little lambchop up in flames. In his place was well, a sheep (I had to give the metaphor a home run, you know). He started eating my clothes and destroying all my appliances one by one. He’s already murdered a fan, sent the dvd player into a coma and given my flatscreen TV a solid beating. (literally – with the remote control no less)
He talks a lot now. Way more than a 16-month-old is supposed to. Much of it still sounds like Brad Pitt in Snatch, but his vocabulary is growing by the day and it’s loads of fun talking to him. Just yesterday I said, “Tru, can you pass the bottle to mama?” He promptly put down his car, toddled over to the bottle, picked it up, then with the cheekiest glint in his eye he shook his head and said NO. I probably shouldn’t be encouraging behavior like that but I couldn’t keep down the giggles and it took me five whole minutes to regain my composure.
Well played, my boy.
These days, when we go out, he doesn’t cling on to my jeans for dear life anymore. He used to walk a few steps and then run back to make sure my jeans are within reach. But now, the moment his feet leave the house, he’s off and running without so much as a glance to see if I’m following. He just assumes I’m going to be there, or maybe he’s too fascinated with the world to even bother. Everything is so new and awesome to him and I can just see him taking it all in.
All of it. Like the blackbirds having a conference on the porch, the old dude lighting up yet another cigarette and the bunch of rowdy kids hurling profanities like it’s some sort of competition. And there I am, wondering if I should keep him sheltered and babied just for a little longer. That maybe he’s too young to hear words that I am unable to repeat. That a whiff of that nicotine will send his tiny lungs into overdrive.
After all, he is barely 16 months and he’ll have his fair share of being in the real world soon enough. And maybe being stuck at home with his *educational* toys and Playhouse Disney ain’t so bad. But then I see him looking longingly at the goings-on outside and the way he breaks into a huge grin when he’s told to “wear his shoes” and I can’t help myself. He’s an adventurer and it would be a grave injustice to not let him explore the world.
Although I do miss the jeans clinging.
