18 Months

Dear Braden,

April 16th, 2008. This was the day you turned 18 Months old. Officially A Year And A Half.

Where has the time gone, I ask you? But you don’t know. You just keep running ahead at full steam, with your daddy and me trying to keep up.

One day into your 18th month, Momma & Daddy finally found a decent house for us to live in, and signed a lease, and then moved out of Mold House. You have not been sick since.

You gave your approval to the stairs in our new home right away, climbing “up!” like a rockstar. Wow. Momma had no idea you could do that, little champ! We had to install gates at the top and bottom so you wouldn’t fall and bust your fivehead open.

Right around the same time we were moving into our new rental house, you decided that you would no longer be cooperating with us on the whole “eating healthy foods” thing. You used to adore green beans, peas, and carrots. Veggies now = SATAN. If Satan was on your food plate, you would flick him away. As such, all vegetables are flicked away.

If a piece of vegetable accidentally goes into your mouth (you were feeling generous and decided to humor me? more likely, you were just teasing me) you spit it out, and thenflick it away. Niiiice.

You are lucky the Easter Bunny still decided to visit such a naughty, vegetable flicker.

You had your first Easter Egg Hunt this month.

You were DELIGHTED to find that these fun colored little thingies you kept finding? Had this stuff in them that you had never before seen… but it tasted SO good, and holy cow, Mom, what IS this awesome stuff? Choco-what? Chocolate? Oh.

OMG, CHOCOLATE.

Halfway through your 18th month, you had a particularly bad day of never-ending splatter poops (how on earth you were able to fill a diaper that many times in one day is BEYOND me, but I dub thee Doo-Doo MASTER), and another of the Mega Rashes you were still getting so often sprung up.

While I was cleaning you and you were thrashing about in a shrieking/crying fit, with tears streaming down your face, I vowed to fix it. I gave you NO dairy for the next 24 hours. The next day, you had another splatter poop. I DREADED the impending pain you were about to suffer as I took off your diaper and started wiping.

But you were silent. And motionless. In disbelief, I cleaned you up and felt more relieved than I have in a long time.

Through research and trial with you, I discovered that you are lactose intolerant. The undigested lactose you were passing was fermenting in your colon, exiting as an acid, and then burning the skin on your precious biscuits. You now only consume lactose free dairy, and so far, you have not had one single rash. Score one for Momma. (FINALLY.)

Of course, you always make sure that no matter how many things we get “under control,” life remains interesting.

You love the little guitar that Daddy’s “Caglehead” friends gave you when you were still in Momma’s belly. You like it when Daddy plays it, and you are joining in with him more and more. Instead of just banging the strings with your hammer, now you actually strum at them.

Daddy is so proud of your interest in all things guitar.

Although, I have to tell you, he is kind of afraid you’re going to pee on his guitars sometimes.

And speaking of peeing? You are showing more and more interest in doing that in the potty. I LOVE THAT. Now if I could just get you to start it off in the potty instead of on the floor or the couch? That would be AWESOME. Just sayin’.

We stayed busy doing fun things this month, like the zoo…

Adam & The Couch Potatoes Concerts (where you were mistaken for a girl yet again)…

And the Lake Beachat Anderston Rd.

I’ve got to say, I have really enjoyed it. I think you have, too. It should be warm all the time, shouldn’t it? I mean, “owsigh” is still like your Crack Rock, isn’t it? Yeah. Mine, too. At least I know where you got your obsession from.

Oh, you know how I mentioned that you get mistaken for a girl (even when you’re wearing totally boy clothes, like above)? I guess your hair has a lot to do with that.

But I was thinking that you have a really sweet face. Almost feminine, because your sweet, chubby cheeks make it so soft. So I did, um… a little experiment.

And you really do make a cute girl.

Will you forgive me?

I sent that shirt to your girlfriend, Amy, in Australia. Maybe she will send us a picture of her wearing it. Then you can kiss her picture and prove how manly you are again?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find many ways to get back at me. You’re smiling now just thinking about it, aren’t you?

Yeah, I knew it.

I might as well mention here that you seem to have stopped shrieking so often… this is probably because you are talking better as time goes by. And also because you have started replacing the solitary Shriek with tantrumming.

You are a force to be reckoned with.