The Rascal Emerges

Kenny is 13 months old today.   And not a minute too soon, his sweet little personality is suddenly getting very big.

I always secretly hoped that I would have sons.   I thought that it would be so much fun to raise a boy.   And miracle of miracles, I got my wish.   The only problem is… he’s a boy.   Oh my goodness, he is 100% BOY!   He charms me, sweet talks me, flirts, teases, and infuriates me at intervals so fast that I feel my head spinning.   One second he is giving me warm, wet smooches, and the next, grabbing a sandwich right off my plate and hurling it onto the floor, all the while a stealthy eye checking my reaction.  Here are some real snippets, all from today.   Consider this  a mere sliver of the chaos this little circus is becoming:

6:30 AM ~  Halfway through  his waffle this morning, he looked right at me and handed the rest  to the ever hopeful Dudley, who was sitting like a good boy at  the ready.   I sternly looked him in the eye, and said, “No, Kenny.   Do not feed the dog.   You eat your food.”   He giggled and dumped his orange juice onto Dudley’s head.   I responded with a cheerful, “All Done!” and took his tray away, at which he screamed, “CRACKER!!   CRACKER!!”   (the only word he says with absolute clarity.)   I lifted his writhing body from the highchair as he pointed frantically at the cabinet where the crackers live.   And what did I do, professional Mom that I am?   I put him back in the chair and gave him a cracker.   “Deee DEE!” (dip)   And a bowl of hummos.   This is all he has eaten in any measure, besides apples,  for two days straight.   I can’t let my little treasure starve, can I??

11:50 AM ~ We had to go to LabCorp for Kenny’s one-year-old blood work.   I’ve been putting it off, but finally dragged us there today, trying to be brave.   Kenny spent the entire 42 minutes that we were waiting  in the reception area by putting on a show  for the geriatric contingent, who were absolutely delighted and competing for his attention.   He toddled around, waving his unpealed banana like a sceptor, talking with  such passionate vigor that one might think he was reciting  the Gettysburg Address.   When we finally were called in for the draw, I held his tiny body tight while the nurse cinched his arm and stuck the needle in.   He screamed like a  banshee, then  when the needle was removed, looked sweetly at  the nurse  and said, “Ahhhhh.”    He practically got a standing ovation when we walked back through the waiting room.   He smiled and nodded like a homecoming king  passing through a throng of cheerleaders.

12:50 PM ~ I took  us out to lunch to celebrate surviving the torture at the lab.   Once a week or so, I like to take  Kenny out for a lunch date.   He always seems to know that it’s a special time, and usually charms my socks off.   We went to  our usual haunt, Panera Bakery, and ordered our usual Tuscan Chicken sandwich with an extra slice of gouda.   Only instead of his usual happiness at sharing my sandwich, bits  of bread and chicken and all of  the cheese, he turned on me.   First he grabbed a whole slice of bread off the top and threw it onto the floor.   I  chalked it up as stress from the needle, and calmly started handing him his morsels.   He took the entire pile of cheese and shoved it all  into his mouth at once, looking at me with a huge, cheesy grin, pieces of  cheese falling out through the gaps in his teeth and dripping down his shirt and  onto the floor.    He then started frantically signing, “MORE!!” and ended up eating all of the chicken off my sandwich, then grabbed the rest of my bread.   I had fortuntaly also bought bagels, so I started eating one in self defence.   He looked me right in the eye and threw the rest of the bread on the floor and knocked over my water bottle.   “All Done!” I said cheerfully, and got him out of there as fast as I could.

2:30 PM  ~   Playing in the living room with his padded baseball bat, he  walked over to Dudley and clobbered him on the head.   Dudley, too his credit, played dead.   I start to reprimand him, and he walks over to me, throws his arms around my neck, kisses me and nuzzles into my ear, whispering, “Cracker??”

3:30 PM ~ Kenny walks into the kitchen and starts  screaming, “CRACKER!   CRACKER!!”   Ok, so I  gave in again.

5:00 PM ~  I lovingly prepare Kenny’s favorite penne with marinara sauce and peas for his dinner.   I set it down, piled with  cheese, fully expecting him to do his usual face dive into the pasta with joyful abandon.   He takes one bite, spits it out, throws his plate onto the floor and yells, “CRAAAAAACKER!!”   I start to  wimper.    Then he gets red in the face, starts grunting and looks at me in a panic.   Yep.   He’s constipated.   Too many crackers will  do that  to you, kid.