Milo potty-trained himself in one day! He is the stuff of legend at his preschool: Miss Jess told Jason that Milo was potty training prodigy (we're going with "POTTIGY!"). The kid spent a whole day in various train/mouse/superhero undergarments that he, on the whole, did not soil — his first real day of potty training at school. This after a Sunday of no less than seven (7) pairs of drawers. I'd hear him across the house yelling, "I GO PEEPEE!" and sprint...only to arrive to a warm puddle and a wry smile: "I peepee." Indeed. I need a laundress.
A couple of days ago, Milo was merrily jumping on the couch, and stopped when I caught him. Me: "Milo, no jumping on the couch." Milo: "I not jumping, I wiggling." [Wiggles to prove it.]
When you tell him it's time to do something he doesn't want to do, whether it's going to bed or changing his diaper, he holds up one finger and says, "Two minutes." In fact, his tell when he's got a poop is that I hear him across the house saying, "Two minutes."
When he wants an item he's not supposed to have, he looks up at you from under a veil of blonde bangs and whispers, "Can I have this?" And you let him have it. Because you cannot resist.
The little animal is two today. I really want to write a stupid sentimental post about the joys of being his mother and how he's the most perfect baby ever and I love him so much my ears tingle and couldn't you just put him on a bun. But that's the kind of post that will give people hairballs. And besides, he's no longer a little animal or a baby. Sigh. He's a person, one of my favorite people, which is good because I spend a lot of time with him.
Here's a quick interest inventory for those of you wanting to get to know Milo — the person — better.
Favorite toy: "Guys." Playmobil, Lego, whatever little plastic dudes might be around (all cast-offs from Lu). "Guys" was probably his tenth word and "MY GUYS!!" is his favorite sentence. Which is why, when it came to decorating his cake, I just stuck guys on it, sweetly reminded of when Stacy put a ceiling fan on Jameson's birthday cake because, well, that was his favorite thing. Favorite activities: Arranging guys, driving trains and cars, headbutting, kissing and making up. Best personality traits: charm and persistence. The scene below from today sums it up... Milo, Attempting to Get More Cake Hopefully: More cupcake? Sternly: More cupcake. Coyly: More cupcake? Desperately: MORE CUPCAKE. Fiercely: Want! More! Cupcake! Coyly: More cupcake? Favorite travel destination: Pie's house. As in, EVERY DAY AFTER SCHOOL, "I go Pie house? I go Sy (Solly) house?" Favorite book: the first one third of the first one he chose, followed by the middle third of the other three nearby. He has little patience for books. Favorite accessories: sunglasses, hats and the occasional markered-on mustache (either by self or sister). Oh, and guys, of course.
Once Milo's English is better, we'll have an actual interview. In the meantime, for the fact that I didn't subject you to the post about how he still has one dimple and I see the stars reflecting in his blue eyes like so many dreams, (agghck) you're welcome.
Ah, Milo. He of the wrinkled nose and sparkling eyes and pink cheeks and really bad attitude. Milo is a man of extremes: either joyful or awful with little in between. Mostly joyful, thankfully. Like when he is a kissing bandit. He kisses all the ladies at school. On the lips. He looks forward to kissing you.
Or when he's grunting any of the 21 words he knows. I try not to dwell on the fact that when Lu was his exact age, she knew over 100 words. He may be able to get by on his looks or that whole kissing thing.
Remember when I didn't want to have another baby?
As this blog is the only form of baby book I am keeping, I need to record that as of Tuesday, Milo says the following animal sounds:
- Cow (sometimes he just puckers his lips in a silent moo)
- Pig/Chicken (some kind of oink/bock hybrid)
He also gives kisses: if you request one, he will lean into you, then pull back with a dramatic "mwah!" Oh, and he definitely understands English. When you ask him to sit down and drink his water, he complies (somewhat), and he will toddle over and hug Ramona or Clifford when directed.
Yes, I realize the little animal is now 9.5 months. What can I say about him, when I've already told you he's the best, sweetest, most charming baby ever? To help you get to know him better, here's a little questionnaire I filled out on his behalf: Vitals: 17 pounds (sadly, only 8th percentile, because apparently Mom has been giving my milk away. We're working on this), 26 inches, blonde hair (lots), 5 teeth. Hobbies: Eating mail. Banging blocks together. Finding electrical outlets and expensive technology. Shutting doors. Likes: Bananas, egg yolks, my older sister, Frog, anyone who smiles at me. Dislikes: The phrase "not for Milo." The carseat. Being ignored. Future plans: Translating my love of opening and closing doors into a career in architecture. Learning to scoot around the house while holding onto furniture. Oh, and I have another tooth coming in.
We now know that Milo can pull himself up to a standing position in his crib. Which solves the mystery of how he got the baby monitor camera off the wall: a few days ago Jason saw Milo gazing into the camera as he held and pawed it like a toy, a disconcerting vista, to be sure. Then yesterday, I spied him through the bars of the crib (camera now moved to bookshelf) as he pulled up and reached for the pictures hanging over his bed, and jumped up and down like a baby gorilla at the zoo.
Time to lower the crib, I think.