Next thing I know, his muscles will expand and his clothes will rip at the seams

In the past year, my son has gone through his transition from

 ”Best. Baby. Ever”

to

“Reign of Rerror, 2 yr old style”.

I remember the first year with our son. Oliver was a docile, compliant and very pleasant baby. We would often just leave him in the stroller while we ate lunch, shopped and went to church. We’d often marvel at just how sweet a baby he was.

Then he turned one.

End Golden Year.

It started slowly.  He’d start squirming in his stroller. He’d cry in his carseat. He’d stand up in the highchair in restaurants. All age appropriate behaviors, for the most part.  Then age two came around and he suddenly wasn’t my baby anymore. His 2T clothes pants were suddenly like capris, his shirts short and tight like Britney Spears pre-Federline.  His hair long like a pre-teen with the attitude to match.

I look back at pictures mere months ago and can’t believe the chubby baby that looks back at me from the photo. Now he’s grown so tall. He speaks in long sentences and laughs and plays with his sister. He loves to line up all his Thomas the Train characters and dance to Imagination Movers. He loves food, especially french fries. We can’t drive by Mcdonald’s without Oliver howling about how he needs. NEEDS! french fries.  

He’s also become quite aggressive. In frustration, he often tends to lash out physically. He swings his arms in anger, often aimed at his poor sister’s head or someone smaller and younger than him. (He’s smart enough to know not to try to mess with the older, bigger kids at church). I’m at a loss at what to do. I tell him daily that we do not hit. To stop hitting his sister. That it is not ok to be mean to little ones. I admit that I yell more often than I’d like. He pushes me to the brink. I reprimand him over and over. He tells me “ok!” with enthusiasm and then turns around, pushes his sister out of the way and marches into the bonus room to go knock over her tea set. His anger is quick to flare and rears its ugly head often. In a matter of seconds, it’s like he becomes this crazy green monster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know John and I are to blame. We’ve inadvertently created a situation where he’s become “the middle child”. As our first and oldest, Evelyn is responsible and obedient. We find ourselves fawning over everything she does, whether it is a picture she draws or a joke she tells. Wesley is our youngest and last baby. We give him constant hugs and kisses while carrying him around the house. He is always hoisted on my hip . He is our last baby and we’re relishing this time while we can.

Then there is Oliver. Former Golden Child. Now he is the menace of the family, always causing trouble at playdates. Swinging his arms aggressively at anyone who even dares to look at his Thomas the Train. Vying for our attention. I’m quite sad as I type this out because I realize he’s only acting out to get our attention. Like they say, negative attention is still attention, right? I know I need to step back and take the time to nurture Oliver like I do with Evelyn. Like I do with Wesley. With affection and positive reinforcement. I feel guilty towards my older son. He deserves more from us. He deserves more from me.  He wants me to laugh at his jokes, too. All he wants are hugs and kisses. Maybe a happy meal or two. You know, the necessities in life

So yes, all his pants are too short, he’s as tall as a 3 yr old and he has the temper of his 35 yr old dad, but I need to remember that he’s still just a kid. A baby. And that he needs me.

Because even though he has a gigantic head and eats like Kobayashi, he’s still just a baby.

My baby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time out –  for what else, hitting his sister

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swimming with his “Wobble goggles”

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