Our Oliver is 18 months old. He is a little guy, too. Everyone thinks he is so much younger than he is (until they see his teeth, that is) and that, of course, is why it is so unfathomable that (dare I say) he enters the world of the “Terrible Two’s.”
This is the thing. Oliver has been, from the start, the most affectionate, smiley, happy-go-lucky baby. He ate anything and everything we put in front of him. He moved on to something else if a toy or electrical outlet was no longer available. He went to bed and stayed asleep fairly effortlessly. He was cake.
And now, independent. Fiercely. I mean, when he’s not busy being shy. Such a dichotomy, that little lad. I found him like this last night. He had shoved Milo’s stool over to the sink, climbed up, and started brushing his teeth. Just by himself, all alone in the bathroom, sippy cup of milk waiting patiently for him to finish.
And it seems that our sweet, sweet Oliver has remained himself, only different. Still affectionate as ever, easy to laugh and cuddle, silly and goofy, only now with a sprinkling of rage and a new sense of injustice with the world. A cupcake with a dash of monster, if you will.
He yells “NOOOOOOOOO!!!” if the dog comes near his snack or Milo comes near his toy or we try to feed him a balanced meal or tooth-brushing time is over or a leaf blows in the wind. He pitches a fit, full-blown stomping both little feet, screaming, throwing himself onto the floor (he actually chipped his front tooth doing this) and kicking his legs like a frog in a pond. A really angry frog.
And the next second, he is fine. Over it. You know, like a two-year-old.
He will be smiling and happy one minute, then the world is suddenly pooping on him.
And the only way I can sympathize, the only way I can stifle a giggle at the ridiculousness of it all, the only way I can keep from tossing his cranky baby bottom out the window some days is to think about teen angst. My little Oliver, caught in the thick of it.
Full-fledged, one-hundred-percent teenage baby angst. Baby/Mama drama.
Oh, cruel world.
Oh, lovely world.
Hang in there, buddy. You’ll make it through.
LOVED this one! Oliver looks like a Teemer for sure
Sweet, sweet Oliver. It’s so hard when they can’t be consoled, but I’m glad it passes quickly! That smile is priceless!
What a well written post, Lauren! The pics documenting tragedy to joy are priceless. What a cute “monster” cupcake!!
I do love this post too, and I can totally relate. Before Jackson was really, really talking, he was the same way. I love the “leaf blows by in the wind”, because that is exactly how it was for us too. The frustration of life is just oh so much to bear for them sometimes! Oliver is just perfect!
“A cupcake with a dash of monster” – haha. between the pictures and your words – SO well told, Lauren! He is just too cute, mad or happy.
Oh Oliver! Such a sweet sweet boy! LOVE him.
Good thing moms have a way of forgetting the early days of sleepless nights and crying babies. I remember you singing a different tale of happy-go-lucky Oliver back in the first few months after his birth.
i am *so* not looking forward to this again. but absolutely love that you stood there taking pictures while he tantrumed. because what else is one to do?
O Cruel World – O Lovely World – perfectly said.