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May 29

My son

When I had my daughter, she was just so easy to understand. We’re very similiar, I get her moods, her dramatic tendencies, I understand the way her mind works. I like baby dolls and figurines, frilly dresses and making up stories. We both lie thru our teeth enthusiastically, etc. But Sammy – he’s so different!

He’s very specific about clothes, refuses to get dressed in the morning unless he’s approved of the outfit ahead of time. And he’ll insist that I cut out the tags of his shirt. He’s got three older sisters, so he learned early that if it glitters, it’s good. He believes firmly that there is no outfit that wouldn’t be improved upon if there was a beribboned headband on his head. But there are so many ways in that he’s such a quintessential BOY that I’m always a little baffled. Like the truck and choo choo fascination. Trash trucks, fire trucks, even a big van is enough to send my boy into ecstasy. He presses his face to the window screen and screams out “TRUUUUUCK!” whenever one happens to drive by the house. He’s thrilled by bugs, thrilled by them. Earlier today, he killed an ant with his little finger, toddled past me to the potty, and flushed it. No comments to me, just handled the situation just like Daddy does. He hated the carriage from the beginning, and it’s only now that he’s two that he’ll consent to sit in one for any length of time. He’s obsessed with ducks – all birds, really, and will yell at them at the park plaintively, getting irritated that they don’t come when he demands it. He’s in love with his older sister, everything is about “Dessi.” He’s recently become enamored with “NO” and “MINE.” I capitilize these because he doesn’t say them, so much as he yells them. He forbids other children from climbing the slide when we’re at the playground and likes nothing more than snatching a toy and screaming that it’s his, and only his.

But he’s got this sweetness, this earnestness about him. He’s a communicator, when he’s upset, the only thing that will calm him down is when I articulate exactly what happened. “You wanted to play with Jessie’s toy, Jessie said no, so you tried to bite her, and Mommy put you in time out until you could say you were sorry.” And he’ll nod sadly and agree, and only then, after he’s sure you understand exactly why he’s so distraught, will he start to calm down. He’s a grubby mess most of the time, but he can skin his little knees and keep on trucking. No tears for him – he’s fallen off of furniture, tries his best to fly by jumping off of stuff, he’s hell bent on causing himself bodily harm, and yet somehow, he’s still fine. A little bumped and bruised, he’s had black eyes, split lips and big bumps, but no stitches and no broken bones.

He’s very similiar to Marc – that same level, easy temperment, he’s not affected by Jessie’s moods, she can be screaming like a mad woman over something, and he’s just popping along, happy as can be.

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