Month 32 - Recap

My sweet boy,

Well lookie who turned into a little fish this month? Natalie took swimming lessons for two weeks, so we've spent a lot of time at the pool. It took you about 2.2 seconds to realize how fun the pool was (and just for the record: you still hate baths, you still hate the hose, you still hate the fountains). But in the pool? You couldn't be happier just paddling around the shallow end, blubbering the water and telling everyone who'll listen that Batman likes to swim. 

The big debate this month is whether to try to potty train you first or convert your bed to a toddler bed first. Natalie was a stubbornly late potty trainer and converting her bed to a toddler bed was a disaster of epic proportions, so I'm a little hesitant to do either. I know you won't go to college still wearing a diaper and sleeping in a crib (and if you do, that's between you and your college roommate), so it's not like I have to get either done this second. But still. Not supporting the Luvs industry anymore sounds pretty rad.

I so appreciate that you haven't learned to lie yet. You tell me flat out when you do something bad. Natalie will come running to me, saying that you poked her eye with your toy tractor. I'll come to you and ask "Charlie, did you poke your sister in the eye with your toy tractor?" You look at me with a be-dimpled smile and proudly say "Yep!" I talk to you about how we don't poke people in the eye (with a toy tractor or anything) and you (of course) ask "Why?" I explain to you how it hurts, how eyeballs are delicate, and how you have to keep your toys to yourself. (I often forget that I have to teach you the proper way to act. It makes sense to ME that you shouldn't poke someone in the eyeball, but I have to explain the specifics to you.) I see the lightbulb go off and you're all "Oh! Ok! I sowwy, Natty." Then you hug her. I make you guys hug after apologies. You've been driving Natalie up the wall recently, so you've given her a lot of hugs this month. 

It has come to my attention that you don't like looking handsome. Your hair can get pretty crazy after you wake up in the mornings, and while I don't do much to it during the week, Daddy makes it a point to tame your coif before we leave for church. From the other side of the house, I can hear you whining as Daddy wets your hair a bit (see above: hates all water except swimming pools) and combs the crazy away. He comments on how handsome you look and then I hear you pout-stomp (you have a distinct walk when you're a pouty-pants) down the hall towards me. You have a look of sheer disgust on your face as you say "I don't WIKE [like] wooking [looking] handsome. No handsome for me." You're the second most handsome fella I know, so whether with crazy hair or a well-groomed 'do, too bad for you.

Hugs and smooches,

Mommy & Daddy

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