Marc is now eighteen month old. We have both come a long way together from the first days after his birth. He is now an energetic toddler. He walks, runs and climbs with speed and agility. From just calling everyone and everything around him ‘mama’, he now expresses himself very clearly in broken sentences.“I want…..” is his favorite.
He completely outgrew the playpen. He won’t even go near it. The few times I plopped him in it, he scared me to death by climbing over the edge and jumping out. So I have banished the playpen to the attic.
Restricting him to one area of the house is not an option. He clearly defined his territory as the whole house and not some part of it. Sam of course encourages him. They simply don’t have any respect for my beautiful collection of Royal Dolton figurines, prettily displayed in the living room.
As the saying goes, “if you can’t beat them join them”. I have given up on the home décor. Sam and I baby proofed the house and packed away my crystal and china. The house in its entirety is now Marc’s turf. He is taking a constant delight of discovering every nook and cranny. I honestly don’t understand his fascination. If it were a haunted Victorian mansion or a medieval castle, then that would make sense. But we live in a ranch style house in American suburbia with not a spider web or a dark terrifying dungeon in sight. No matter, the house is still a constant source of fascination for Marc.
All his fluffy toys are now neatly arranged on the shelves in his bedroom. The family room is littered with ‘educational toys’. His favorite is the large red plastic cube punched with different shapes. With patience and amazing speed he pushes each shape in its slot and when done he looks up at me with a triumphant smile waiting and expecting the clapping ovation that he invariably gets from me.
“Great Marc! You clever boy.”
I pick him up and kiss him on both cheeks. He squirms, slides down, starts running around the room and wiggle in a mad victory dance……….