Blocks and Dogs
If we threw out all of his other possessions, these toys would probably suffice. There'd remain the problem of what to climb, knock over, flip, and tear apart; but Spencer pretty much utilizes his parent's furniture to fill those needs.
Above is a picture of what I thought was Spencer's first time to build the block tower by himself. This "feeling like crap" is going to do wonders for his independence--whether he likes it or not, bless his heart. This particular morning, he asked for me to play blocks with him and I told him, "No, Spencer do it." We talked about it for probably ten minutes. He fussed and flopped and I remained as still as I could on the sofa. I can't lean over or sit on the floor and do blocks in the morning. I just can't. I'm saving my strength for necessary actions--life-saving measures, libation-securing, and diaper changing. Every now and then, I change out the dvd.
As I determined to remain resolute, I noticed that the two bottom-most blocks have been torn up (surprise, surprise!), making it so that the smaller block does slip over the bigger block sometimes. That's confusing to the two-year old who has learned that if the block slips over the top of the block under it, rearranging is in order. So, I realized he was sitting there, going back and forth over which block should be the bottom block. I felt really bad for him. I couldn't help but fix the two bottom blocks for him. BUT that little bit of leaning over sealed the deal--I would not be doing that again any time in the near future. So, I told him again, "Now, Spencer do it."
I closed my eyes, he fussed, and I ignored him. I attempted to slip into some sort of Nirvana state where I'd transcended the nausea. I can do this for short periods of time when everything is quiet, and still, and dark, and I'm perfectly comfortable where I'm laying. So, basically never. But, I digress.
The next thing I knew, he was saying something that my suppressed consciousness felt needed to be attended to, so I gave up my search for transcendence and looked over where he was. I was SHOCKED to see the entire block tower, built perfectly right next to him. SHOCKED. I have been "helping" him do these blocks for a year and a half. I bought them for him two Christmases ago, when he'd just turned one. Jonathan had just mentioned a month or so ago that it seemed like Spencer should have mastered these by now based on how long he'd had them. I went on to explain to him my never-humble and typically only partially informed reasons for why it's still perfectly in the range of normal for a kid Spencer's age not to be able to stack ten progressively sized blocks perfectly by himself. I had myself convinced.
It was such a big deal in my mind, that I took a picture (as you can see). And THAT, my friend, involved getting off of the couch! So, again, I was impressed. When Jonathan got home from work that day, I finally had something to tell him besides my puke stats and how many times HIS son pooped for his gagging mom to change that day. Spencer had stacked the blocks by himself! (Except that broken bottom one that makes him mad / confused)! Jonathan was all casual, like, "Yeah, he's done that with me lots of times." Hmph. That's what happens when you ignore your kid for two months. They learn stuff. Maybe even from their father!
I jokingly told my mom and sister that there really are blessing in disguise going on during this time for our family. For example, if I did not feel so puny, Spencer would probably be ten and still insisting that his mom help him stack up his blocks. And I would probably help him, sure that if he could do it himself, he wouldn't want me to do it. Where's the fun in that? What kid would knowingly rather manipulate and control his parents into doing what he wants them to do than get lost in the world of building block towers and knocking them down? Affirming the fallenness of man seems to bring little to no insight into things like this, until it cannot be denied. And, for the most part, that's ok. Moms are moms for a reason. They think good of their kid. But woe be to the one who withholds tough love when the time is due. After all, a kids gotta learn to stack the blocks! Or, better, a kids gotta learn that eventually his mom will find out that he knows how to stack his own blocks!
Now, on to a less theologically charged topic (please note my use of tongue-in-cheek throughout my blog or you will terribly misunderstand me!), this little cutie loves dogs. Still. I'm steeling my heart and nerves for the conversations that I know will persist throughout his childhood. "No, we cannot get a dog. Mommy is allergic to dogs. I know so and so's mom told you that their dog is hypo-allergenic but she doesn't know what she's talking about. All dogs make mommy sick. Very sick. No, we cannot get a dog. No. No. No. No. No."
Please don't let me let my kid get a dog. He'll gain a pet and lose a mother. Surely that's a poor trade off.
This picture makes this pregnancy all the more worthwhile in my tiny little selfish, easily depressed, and easily wavered mind. This morning, Spencer had a specific breakfast arrangement in mind. I was still "asleep" (in bed), and Jonathan started asking me where the camera was. I'm so glad he did.
Spencer didn't want to eat breakfast alone at his big, oblong table. He wanted his doggies to join him. Who wants to dine alone?
He put the two smaller dogs up in the chairs by himself, but Jonathan had to help him put his St. Bernard in the chair. The St. Bernard is still about twice the size of Spencer. I love this little boy, and he loves his doggies.
Please don't let me get him a dog.