2006.10.sometime - who truman is -
Truman, light of my life, 18-month-old of my soul. Oh, how have I forsaken you.
Despite a couple of mis-cues and non-starts on updating this web site, I've failed utterly to keep up to date with all that is Truman. I adore Truman and spending time with him is vastly better than writing about him. But I suspect that the reason I haven't kept his blog up better (o.k., at all, it's been a darned year):
Truman is trouble
Oh, it's lovable trouble. But it's time-consuming, maddening, undo-everything-you've-just-worked-so-hard-on trouble. It's the sort of trouble that stops you in your tracks and makes your jaw drop open. The sort of trouble that makes you wish for a camera, yet certain you'd never again wish to look at the photo. And besides, you're deciding that it is ok to spank a toddler, if you're really, really mad ...
Oh, Truman.
There was the time I was having a serious, very important, emotional talk with Chantel and I heard a scattering noise. You know? Like marbles falling out of a funnel? And when I finally went into the kitchen I discovered that Truman was, joyfully, taking handfuls of cat food and throwing them wildly all throughout the kitchen. He wouldn't stop even though I yelled "no!" and shot him a look of death. He still was trying to get into the cat food when I slammed the kitchen door, him on the other side, to start sweeping it up. "Mem.. mem... MEEHHM!" he wailed, and my heart yearned for him even through my considerable anger.
Hours later, he got into the cat food again. And did it so happily.
I can't tell you the things I've found in the toilet. Or the number of times he's dumped out the garbage can in my office. Or the many and varied ways he's found to empty a drawer of its clothes ... and then ecstatically attempt to 'help' me put the clothes back in, waving his hands about in an uncoordinated imitation of his dad rolling up his little shirts.
Or last Saturday, when I had the flu and was weakly trying to pack my clothes for my 7-day business trip, flying out early early the next morning. And every time I put something in and turned my back, he'd throw it somewhere. No wonder I arrived in 50-degree, windy Dulles with only one (not very warm) jacket.
And he doesn't talk. I know, I know, you don't start really talking until around two. But he doesn't say anything. He has three "words."
- HAAA! for 'hi', which he's been saying since he was about six weeks old, you'd think that was a symbol of greatness to come. Uh-uh.
- KKKKKKiiiiieee, more of a guttural sound than a word, for kitty. Oh how he loves the kkkkkkiiiiieeee.
- AYE! AYE! AYE!, for 'That's what I want immediately! No time to waste! NOOOWWW!' This one is more recent, and very difficult to turn down despite its ridiculously high decibel level.
I've done everything the same way, or thereabouts, that I did with Everett, and really, I've had a lot more mother-son time at a young age with Truman. After all, I've been working from home this whole time. We've gone on train rides together, and flown to New York together. Truman's been my constant companion (except last week, sorry sweetie), lo these 18 months. I've talked to him, at length, and about many deep and wonderful things. I've tried to read to him, though I can't even think of two books he's let me get all the way through without yanking the book away from me and having at it himself. Maybe he's learning to read? Skip that whole verbalization thing?
Some days I worry. Other days I just accept that this is my Truman, it's who he is. He doesn't wish to grace us with a vocabulary yet. We give him what he wants, most of the time, and my oh my does he know what he wants. He can scale the playground equipment that terrifies Everett. He can open just about anything. He can put together a whole lineup of Thomas trains.
He's the most eccentric baby I've ever met. And the most charming. Both my boys are charming but where Everett uses his language, "come on come on, we're just going to go out here and play superheroes, come on come on, it's ok, we're going to have so much fun! ok ok, I'm the superhero and you're a superhero TOO," Truman uses his eyes, his smile, his hugs, his technique of climbing into a complete stranger's lap...
I love him every day a little more, even though he's likely found a new way to create chaos in my life. Oh, the number of times I've had to restart my computer because he mysteriously disabled my right- and left-arrow keys. Oh, the number of photos he's shredded or balls of yarn he's unwound all over the house, through the living room, up the stairs...
Truman is trouble, but I can't help beaming through the tears. And oh, those brown eyes...
