I’ve been writing a lot about my Ollie this week. Yesterday should have been Ollie’s second birthday, and this time of year, I remember how off the charts things went awry with him, his birth, his early days. I get thoughtful about his life since then and how we’re all learning about each other still, always. Forever.
Instead he wore his Birthday Boy shirt three months ago.
And while we deal with delays on a daily basis, it’s clear: those famous Terrible Twos are right on time with this boy.
A Parent in our little family has the quickest, tiniest temper. It’ll flare up for small things, then sizzle out as quickly as it came. No grudge-holding, just a one-second-and-done little fire of anger that’s as gone as quickly as it came on. Ollie may have inherited that trait and for whatever reason, pants are sometimes an issue. Last week I tried putting a pair on him, but he crawled away as fast as he could, and purposely slammed his forehead on the hardwood floor.
Three times he banged his head. Three times was sufficient to demonstrate how much he didn’t want to wear pants.
I just stared at him, unsure how to bring him back from that edge he just went over. He didn’t want a cuddle to erase the pain he had to be feeling, he was so mad at me. He just stared right back until he somehow got the all-clear that I wasn’t going to try to put pants on him.
He won that battle.
We’re dealing with other battles lately, too. The stuff Two-Year-Olds excel at, I’m sure.
My face has been significantly scratched when he didn’t want to settle down for a nap. My wrist has been pulled away while trying to wipe food off his face. I’ve been on the receiving end of an evil eye when I ask him to eat. A request for him to sign “please” before giving him something can end in a meltdown.
I’ve come to the realization in recent months that I can totally underestimate this kid. Especially before he was walking, and since he doesn’t talk, I still had it in my head that he was much younger than he really is. He felt younger, with only eating purees and needing to be carried around yet. I expected him to have the brain of a 9 month old, since that’s about where his language abilities lie. I am surprised on a daily basis at the things he does know and it’s funny to me that he has his own mind, can make his own decisions and can and will fight me on the ones I make for him. I still expect him to have the mental capacity of a child who’s other skills are equal to his.
His brain is fine. His wants are those of a typical two year old. He wants to be able to make up his own mind about his pants. He wants to eat what we eat. He wants – and is able – to help pick his toys up, help with Tucker, to be the big brother, to do it himself. And since he hurt himself in the slamming of his forehead on the floor experience, he’s only mimicked the act of slamming since – but not actually slam – when he’s frustrated. His capacity for learning is right on track.
So here we are, two years later from when he should have been born. For his adjusted birthday, he got to wear his Birthday Boy shirt again (how many kids can wear a Birthday shirt twice in three months? ♥) We had chocolate pudding and ice cream.
We’re celebrating All Things Ollie this week. The meltdowns and calamities, successes and victories. The getting to be everyday Ollie-isms that make him an awesome kid.