|From October 2011|
"What is it, Oliver?" I ask.
Multiple times a day I have the same tiny conversation with my wee Oliver. He asks, "Guess what?" I say, "What?" and then he tells me some very important tidbit about his day.
It is darling.
Two and half years old, my boy is. He's still very interested in being with Mom or Dad at all times. He's totally fine with one or both (Grandparents are also completely acceptable) but babysitters are a no-go.
He's so funny. SO funny. He's sometimes mean. He sits between his brothers in the car and "whack-a-mole"s them. Which is to say, he smacks them each in the face whilst yelling, "WHACK A MOLE!" It makes them cry. I have to say, "NO! OLIVER! NO WHACKAMOLE-ING your brothers!" through stifled laughter.
Oliver says, "Pick up me!" 89 times a day. I thought he would have outgrown it by now, especially with a baby brother usually in arms, but no. He hasn't.
He changes every day. He adds new sentences and complex speech every day. He insists on being included in all aspects of everything, school included.
I adore him and he makes me nuts.
Only two and a half for a little while. He's growing so fast.