Friday, November 12, 2010

Day Twelve: 18 months

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month. This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life. Enjoy!

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Today, little Chick, you are 18 months old. You are such a big boy and getting smarter every single day.

Lately, it's amazing to see how much you know and understand. Last night we were eating dinner and your dad said the word, "tiger". That was your Pavlovian prompt to growl like a tiger. This happens pretty regularly and there are about 20 words that when you hear them (like head, fact, feet, dog, train) you have an immediate reaction and start acting out the word - or hitting yourself in the face.

You still prefer grunting over talking, but your vocabulary is growing every day. Some of your best and most understandable words are:
mom
dads
Elliott! (you only yell your brothers name)
dog
up
baby
go-go-go
ball
duck
thank you (in sign language, but it's still a word)
Haley (only a couple of times)
choo-choo
car (a couple of times)

You also know the sounds a lot of animals make, thanks to some apps on the iPhone:
dog
cat
bee
cow
horse
cricket
sheep
goat
snake
chicken
duck
monkey
elephant
snake
raccoon
hippo
zebra
tiger/lion

The skill you are working on the best however, is still destruction. Yesterday we were at Grandma Connie's house for about 30 minutes and in that time you found the phone, opened all the cupboards, grabbed a butter knife, dumped out a drawer with notebooks, found and unplugged the carbon monoxide detector and armed the house alarm so that when we left the house, the alarm went off. it scared your brother to death! You thought it was hilarious.

You march to the beat of your own drummer for sure. You insisted on going trick or treating with Elliott and agreed to wear your costume. Every person who saw you that said, "What a cute little monkey" was greeted by a glorious monkey roar from you.

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And, perhaps the biggest opinion move on your part in the last little while involves the high chair. It's now in the basement. You, my boy now eat at the kitchen table with us because you are apparently, not a baby.

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I still get to rock you to sleep a couple times a day, and you still have to drink a bottle at night but I'll try to remember. You are now officially a toddler. Not a baby.

You got it kiddo.

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