Category: Spawn

I have a new policy for the blog. Bad news has to give way to good. I won’t leave unhappy posts at the top of the blog (unless I am incapable for some reason).

So in that light, here is a post that I hesitated to put up yesterday because I thought it would bore most people senseless. So without further ado, here is a conversation with Inigo, in video.

*The title of this post comes from a text message, sent by a football player to a woman that he had sexually assaulted, the full text of which reads, “Buck up you sad bitch, nobody likes a whinger”.

Today I went to an ABA training meeting and left Inigo at home with Mark. After the meeting, I rang home, and Mark put Inigo on the phone so we could have a chat. He was awesome, answeing my questions and telling me about his day.

Apparently, after I hung up, he proudly stated, I talked to mama on daddys phone.

Adorable.

Surely I should have had a better comeback than, “Uh, yeah. Ta.”. Disastrous.

So, in an effort to recover gracefully from that cultural abyss, I intended to bring you Inigo singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. It was going to be a creative triumph, an adorable child, singing a note perfect and season appropriate carol, with gorgeous lighting and the perfect accessories.

But after two days of trying, I bring you this instead.

Being two is probably different for everyone, and of course I can’t know exactly what it’s like for Inigo. But as the person who spends the most time with him, I have made a few observations, that I would like to record for posterity. For me when I am old and can’t remember Inigo at two, for him if he ever wants to know.

Being two means saying “Iggy do’d it” at every opportunity. He now has to feed himself, brush his teeth, water the garden, climb into his car seat, open the fridge, turn on (or off) the light, climb the stairs, stir the dinner, press the button to make the coffee, choose the book, and turn the page.

It also means LOSING. HIS. SHIT. whenever something doesn’t go his way, and flinging his head at the nearest hard object, wall, or floor, and often kicking or punching the nearest person, usually me (especially since I am apparently supposed to hold him while these rages happen!). This then leads to physical pain on top of the wild emotion storm he is riding. Needless to say, this is NOT. FUN. for the primary caregiver, who has been known to LOSE. HER. MIND. when dealing with the ferocity of these episodes, especially on days like yesterday, when he averaged about one every 45 minutes.

And speaking of pages. When I was very little, my dad taught me how to care for books, to turn the pages carefully from the corners, not near the spine. Consequently, I am a little obsessive about caring for books, and having a kid who likes to drool all over them has been a personal challenge for me. So it is with immense gratification that I can report that Inigo is now carefully turning pages. From the corner.

Being two means a fascination with shoes, his own, or anyone elses. He is getting quite proficient at walking down steps in shoes that are much too large for him.

His father is thrilled to note that not only is Inigo singing songs with actual words (and he gets surprisingly many of the right), he also sings in tune. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” is a favourite, but we also get “Open, Shut Them”, “Incy Wincy Spider”, and “The Alphabet Song”.

Climbing is really fun, and falling over is even more fun. It doesn’t require an actual fall, often it’s just sitting down gracefully and then lying down to great effect, and telling anyone in earshot that he “fall down”. Which he then will repeat, ad infinitum, until someone repeats what he says.

He is getting quite definite ideas about what he will and will not wear, and I can see multiple changes of clothing per day are in our future. For the past few weeks (since we had a swimming lesson with Aunty Josephine and Cousin Owen), he’s been wanting to wear his swimmers all the time. I think this may correspond to a desire to go swimming more often, so we are looking forward to summer. This past weekend we spent at Pearl Beach, and Mark and I took Inigo into the ocean for the first time. It was a little chilly, but he was a trooper, and I can see us enjoying a lot more swimming at the beach during the summer, particularly our annual Pearl Beach pilgrimage between Christmas and New Year.

Being two means identifying shapes and colours, and counting. Big and little, circles, squares, triangles stars, every symbol must be observed, and talked about, and enthused about. One of his birthday shirts has a peace symbol on it, and when he wears it he has to say “BIG CIRCLE” about eleventy brazillion times.

Being two means sharing your breakfast with a toy, always taking a rock with you on car trips, and happily going out with Nanna and leaving Mama at home. Or even slamming the door in Mama’s face when she went out at night a few weeks ago.

Another clothing change has been the lack of undergarments, preferring to be as naked as possible for quick potty trips. We introduced him to the potty when he was very little, and again while we were in Bali, but in the last few weeks it’s been warm enough to go pants free, and we have had remarkable success. He’s even been out of the house in undies a few times, with only one or two accidents. And today he even stopped playing when he realised he needed to go and asked for the potty. * Update – He’s been in undies (apart from naps) full time since Monday.

And we’ve said goodbye to a faithful companion. When Inigo and I went to Tweed Heads to visit Josephine and Owen, I decided to see if we could do the trip dummy free. The first night was hard, the second night better, and by the third night he didn’t even ask for it. Of course he expected for it to be back when we returned home, but we decided to tough it out, and now, a few weeks later, he is sleeping through the night a few times a week, and hasn’t asked for a plug in ages.

When I look at him, I still see my little baby. But all these changes mean he’s growing up.

And today, we introduced him to Scrabble.