Hug Twice

My child wants to give me a heart attack.  Hourly.

A few days ago I moved Alexa from a high chair to a booster seat attached to a dining room chair.  And I’ve regretted it ever since.

Alexa does great with eating at the table in it.  That’s not the problem.  But she wants to climb into it herself, sit in it herself (whenever she wants, and let me tell you, she doesn’t buckle herself in) and push it around to use as a stepstool to turn off (and on) the lights.

And off.  And on.  And off.  And on.  And…

Between that and the constant undressing of the tree…..  aaaaaaah. 

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Alexa is becoming quite the two year old.  Matt and I reflect daily upon how much she’s changed in such a short time.  Some of it is wonderful, and some of it is trying, but all of it is two.

She has become master destructo. Anything and everything is prey to her curious grasp.  She can totally dismantle a book or color on every single page in a matter of seconds, it seems.  My ever-present chemistry book on my desk for online tutoring sessions has her mark on just about every page, it seems.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to protest loudly at any moment if she is thwarted.  She wants us to do her bidding but at the same time does not want help with anything. An interesting combination.

She imitates and adores her brother. She wants to do whatever he is doing whenever he is.  And she will imitate his actions down to his facial expressions with uncanny accuracy.

She is full of love and hugs and kisses and little “I ov u”s and all the joy that a two year old princess can have.  Lovely and perfect and beautiful and precious all at once.

And, she is two.  A lovely two that is.  Mostly.

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So, we have had a crazy crazy medical few weeks in this household.

First there was Alexa and the allergic reaction, that at first was thought to be a vaccine reaction, and is now suspected to be an antibiotic reaction, and who really knows what it is.  She has an appointment with an allergy specialist in early January (the earliest we could get an appointment) so we’ll figure out what it might have been then.  And if there is anything else to worry about, I guess.

And then last weekend, I felt kind of off.  Just like I had a cold or something.  But then my hands started to tingle.  Off and on, one or the other would tingle like it had gone to sleep and was waking up.

And that freaked me out.  So I called my doctor Monday morning, and Monday afternoon I went to see him.  After asking me a ton of questions and examining me, he basically said I could either just have a virus, or I could have something really serious.  Great.  He sent me to the hospital for some blood tests, and thankfully they all came out normal.  So I guess it was just a virus.

So back to the irony thing.  Along comes the morning of Thanksgiving.  I had gotten better and better and was basically fine.  And then that morning I woke up and my insides went totally haywire.  After expelling everything I’d consumed for the past day and feeling like I might expel my insides for 24 hours or so, I did eventually get better.  We had Thanksgiving dinner on Friday instead, since I was in no shape to cook on Thursday.

The verdict?  Food poisoning.  On Thanksgiving.  And not even from Thanksgiving dinner.  Isn’t it ironic.  Heh.

(As of this writing everyone is all better now.  Let us hope that lasts.  Hope.  Heh.)

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Some highlights from conversations with CJ over the past few days:

CJ:  (playing pirates in the bathtub) “Ahoy Ladies!”

Matt:  “Hon, it’s ‘Ahoy Mateys’”

CJ:  “I don’t care.  Ahoy Ladies!”

—–

Me:  “CJ, put your shoes on, it is almost time for school.”

CJ:  (ignores me as I repeat myself 5 times)

Me:  “CJ, you need your shoes on NOW, the bus is almost here”

CJ:  “I heard you already stop saying that.”

—

Welcome to life with a four year old

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It is cold here.  I live in the midwest, and we’ve been having sub-freezing temps and snow flurries for about a week now.  Subsequently, CJ has needed to wear a hat and gloves to school.

This morning, he told me he’d rather have mittens.  Which is fine, but I find amusing because all he had last year were mittens, and he was adamant this year that he wanted gloves with “5 fingers!” not mittens with “2 fingers!”.  So out we went to find gloves.

And now after a week of wearing them, he wanted his mittens.

And proudly showed the bus driver how he had “2 fingers!”

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