Twenty-Eight (28!) Months with Alvie Bean

Dearest Bean,

It’s August! You are 28 months old! Some days you are a vewwy big boy, but yesterday you were a tiny baby and asked me to hold you. That didn’t work out so well because you’ve recently had another growth spurt and have hit a whopping 37 inches and 37 lbs.  You no longer fit in my arms like a tiny baby.

It’s funny watching you bounce back and forth between tiny baby and big boy. One minute you request baby diapers, and the next you refuse to put on anything that’s not your superman underwear. “I big boy, mummy. I wear underwear.”

We got to have grandma come visit for a while, and that was fun. You were so excited to play with grandma. We played with trains and went to OMSI where we got to see dinosaurs and do science.

grandma

SCIENCING!

SCIENCING!

Mummy and daddy finally put sand in your sandbox, and that’s been a big hit. It’s another exciting way to get dirty, and getting dirty is one of your favorite things.

sandbox

Sand is not part of a well-balanced diet, Bean!

You continue to love trains. You love your trains (Boris, Thomas, Toby, and Clarabelle) you love Daddy’s trains (who are mostly unnamed, although there is a green Clarabelle from what I understand), and you love MAX trains. The highlight of your day is when we get stopped at the level crossings for MAX. I’ll admit, I enjoy getting stopped by trains a lot more when you’re in the car with me. 🙂

You really love reading. And spelling. When it’s time for our night-time stories, a lot of times you insist, “L’yander [which is an attempt at the phonetic spelling of how pronounce your name] wead it!” And you do. You spell out your favorite words, and it never fails to delight me when you read the cover of “Go, Dog. Go!”

“G O comma D O G pewiod G O capation point. By Eastman.”

Love it. LOVE IT.

I also love your new method of reading, which I assume comes from watching your teachers read to the class.

I wead to twains, mummy.

I wead to twains, mummy.

You are fearless, which I’m pretty sure is going to kill me. My heart stops a dozen times a day because of your jumping and climbing. But it is so awesome to see you do something that scares you, whether it’s climbing to the top of the slide and then going down

I bwave, mummy

I bwave, mummy

 

Or jumping in the water when it looks a little intimidating.

Turns out this was fun

Turns out this was fun

 

You are so brave. And awesome.

Of course, it’s not all sunshine and roses here. You are a ball of emotions and the slightest provocation can drive you to tears.

Last Sunday, I was upstairs changing clothes and gathering laundry when I heard scary-sounding, pain-filled cries from downstairs. I managed to teleport myself downstairs to see what horrible accident you’d had. I was prepared for blood and compound fractures – possibly even missing limbs.

Do you know why you sounded as if you were being flayed alive? My iPad had refused to allow you to buy an Angry Birds power-up.

Later that same day you climbed up in the chair next to me and pulled at the back of my pants. “Mommy pooped pants!” You announced.

“No I didn’t,” I replied, because I had not.

“Yes! Mummy pooped pants!”

I argued with you for a bit before I realized that I was arguing with a 2-year-old and that maybe I needed to re-examine my life choices. You thought it was hilarious.

So funny.

You are alternately sociopathic and empathetic. You hate hearing “sad babies” but will go out of your way to kick a cat. You put your trains to bed in a tunnel every night before bed. You break out with a spontaneous “I wuv you” often enough to make me forgive the “mummy no fun” comments.

I have never been so frustrated with anyone in my life. I’ve also never had my heart swell to near-bursting by the same person three minutes later.

In short, you are cwazy. And I love my cwazy, cwazy Bean.

To quote you, “I happy.”

IMG958456

Love you.

Mummy

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