Boys! Sheesh. Go figure. For every emotional challenge we had with Ava when she was younger, Emmett presents a physical equivalent. Over the weekend I watched him scramble up the *raised* side of his crib — from the floor — and flip himself over the top rail and onto his mattress, where he looked up at me with a huge, self-satisfied grin. The dad in me thought, “Bad ass!” The parent in me thought, “Oh, shit.”
At dinner last night, after refusing to sit in his chair and eat, he repeatedly ran around the table and attacked the ficus in the corner, at one point nearly stripping one of its branches. I looked at my exasperated wife across the table and tried to mentally send her the “you’re the one who wanted two kids” thought. I think she got it.
Of course it’s impossible to stay mad/frustrated with him for more than 10 seconds. I mean, really, look at that face:
One of his latest favorite activities now is to get a book from his bookshelf at bedtime and bring it down to Ava’s room. Then Emmett, Ava, and I lie on the bed together and read the books. I suppose now that his crib has been compromised, it’s only a matter of weeks before we need to start thinking about getting Emmett a big boy bed. Hardly seems possible, but, a big boy he’s becoming, ready or not!