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During last July’s 5.8 earthquake, 3-year-old Bronwyn told her 1-year-old sister, “We’re going for a wiggle.” READ MORE
First Years
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Over the holidays, in anticipation of our little guy’s second birthday, my husband started tutoring our 20-month-old. “How old are you?” he’d ask. Then, of course, Papa provided the desired answer: “Two.” It took our premature birthday boy all of one afternoon to master his upcoming age (this was during that amazing sprint time when he was learning upwards of four to six new words a day). But this particular acquisition seemed, in terms of his aging process, too much too soon. 730 days, 104 weeks, 24 months. The word brightly chirped out of the little guy’s mouth. “Two. Two. Two.” Nine months of anticipation, and upon baby’s arrival there’s a sense that the baby will be just that a baby for a while. For nine months, at the very least. A year. There are those tiny clothes to wear, those stimulating toys to ponder. But the babe has other plans. Perhaps sleep deprivation contributes to the effect of accelerated aging, but, as other parents warn, they do grow up so quickly. Ours certainly has. Twenty-four months, 730 days, 104 weeks, two years. The second birthday seems to be the threshold when age is finally accounted for not by months and certainly not weeks, but in years. Two years old. From here on out, time is marked this way: 2, 2 1/2, 3… The 2-year-old will begin this new year in diapers but end, the parents hope, in underwear. The toddler silhouette, that Winnie-the-Pooh tummy, those stocky legs, that waddle, exaggerated by a diapered bottom, will vanish as he grows taller, slimmer and walks with increasing confidence. His vocabulary will no longer be measurable. While he won’t be able to borrow the car for the evening, no doubt he’ll be able to ask for it. And that famous 2-year-old will and temper? You know, the emotional development that helped inspire the phrase the “Terrible 2s?” Well, we hope to remember that, like with every developmental milestone, it’s a phase, a necessary phase, and it too will come and go. Last year at this time, we watched our baby transform himself into a toddler just in time for the gala celebration of his first birthday. This year, our best-laid party plans are more modest. We aim to forgo the typical festivities because we recognize that future birthdays will require just that parties. Now that we know just how fast our time goes with our child, we’re hoarding it. While we can get away with it, he’s all ours. This year, we’re exercising our parental right to be selfish. The centerpiece of our birthday plot: the inaugural train trip for our Casey Jones Junior. And when the Amtrak choo-choo pulls in the San Juan Capistrano station (after its 20-minute journey from Irvine), the birthday boy will be greeted by his most ardent fans: his grandparents. After disembarking, we’ll proceed to the nearby petting zoo to see its friendly residents and then lunch. By early afternoon, we’ll board the return train and no doubt our little engineer will doze away in my arms, dreaming of steam engines and horses, ducks and birthday cake. He’ll sleep, as they say, like a baby. Like the baby that his mother must admit he no longer is. Lisa Alvarez, an English professor at Irvine Valley College, lives in Laguna Beach with her husband and 1-year-old son, Louis. She is a regular contributor to this column. |
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