Friday, May 18, 2012

Growing up

This song makes Fletcher dance. When we dance together, I always wish I could freeze the moment and save it in my pocket for a day when he's out of my reach.

He's growing up on me. There's a lot less cuddling these days, which makes it all the sweeter when he does choose my lap over his designated movie watching bean bag chair. Although he's still a physical creature, craving room to run and climb, movies have become an obsession. The Toy Story movies top the list, along with Tarzan, Shrek, Little Mermaid, Enchanted, Tangled, Cinderella, The Wizard of Oz (funny how that movie stands the test of time).

At the slightest bit of frustration, his instinct is to make a loud whining sound. If the frustration persists for more than a moment, his next instinct is to throw and hit. I'm struggling to figure out how to communicate that feeling frustration is fine and normal and you go ahead and make yourself feel better, but also that there are good and appropriate ways to vent frustration that don't involve hurting anyone or anything, or making my ears bleed.

He babbles and says mom, da, up, out. Possibly hi and down. Everything else is "ut-da." No idea.

I'm still eager for him to talk, but I can't really imagine having a real conversation with him. Even if he were talking, I know him well enough to know he can't be reasoned with. That doesn't mean I won't try, when the time comes. It just means my head will be sore from how much I bang it into the wall.

Ah, growing up.

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