14 Months

We temporarily interrupt “Mommy’s Nervous Break-down” to bring you this update on the Sniggett.

Ian is 14 months old now. For once it isn’t hard for me to fully comprehend that he is already 14 months old. Why? Because, he is SUCH a toddler these days.

After getting four teeth in the three weeks surrounding Christmas, Ian hasn’t cut another tooth. Until, that is, he started working on his upper molars, both at the same time, while I am recovering from abdominal surgery. His sense of timing is as perfect as it is profane. The upper right molar has two of the four “points” through the gum. The upper left molar has one point through. The store was out of baby orajel and I’m all out of bourbon. We’ll suffer together.

Since big brother Ethan took until 14 months to walk, I haven’t been at all freaked out by Ian’s lack of interest in upright mobility. He isn’t even interested in holding your hands and toddling around in that back-breaking, arm-stretching exercise we parents somehow consider stimulating and motivational. Like we’re training wheels for legs or something….

Anyway, Ian climbs everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in sight. That is another reason why I’m not fretting over his lack of walking. His legs are obviously strong and functional, he just chooses not to use them for walking. Instead he uses them to scramble onto the kid’s couch, the rocking chair, the stairs, the outside curve of the stairs (because I needed another anxiety attack, thanks, son) the windowsill, the dining room table, and.. well, there’s not enough bandwidth to list the things he climbs on. Ian’s industrious too. He uses tools. He can’t open doors ( Thank you, Lord) but he can flip the laundry basket over, push it in front of the couch, climb onto the laundry basket and from there onto the couch.

When he’s not climbing, or gnawing his hand off while screaming in tooth-induced agony, Ian is eating. A lot. A lot of meat, that is. He’ll eat an entire hot dog, cut up into miniscule pieces and with all the casing removed so no choking worries. Mostly though, he’s the Chicken King. He eats chicken nuggets, fried chicken, roasted chicken, boiled chicken, chicken with noodles, chicken with potatoes, chicken fried chicken, chicken with a side of chicken, chicken with sauce a la Mamma- is- so- f-ing- tired- of- making- chicken… He won’t eat green beans or peas. He’ll deign to eat a few bits of apple or pear if you mix them in with the chicken carcasses, but that’s only because they are roughly the same color as the chicken. If chicken is unavailable then a nice, soft, starchy, totally unhealthy piece of bread or biscuit will suffice until more chicken can be procured.

I know it’s a phase and he’ll grow out of it. I just hope he does before I have to start raising my own chickens.

During the past month Ian has weaned and spent several nights without me- all necessitated by my hospitalization. I wouldn’t recommend the forced separation mode of weaning, but he seems to be just fine with the lack of nursing. Typical. He’s also going to bed very easily and 9 out of 10 nights he sleeps through the night. It’s like his Nanna and Granny flipped his “I will now sleep like a normal human being switch”. He does exhibit some definite stranger anxiety, but once he warms up to you he’s all cuddles and smiles and loving slaps upside the head. He likes to try to rub noses, but his control of his great big melon head is still a hit or miss thing so, he usually ends up just head butting the person he was trying to show affection to.

Love, true love, is a concussion given with a giggle and a drooly kiss. Thanks for giving me a reason to smile, Sniggett. Mamma loves you.