Hey Buddy!

Today, you turn two years old. And in this – your second year – we have had much to celebrate. In my best estimation, it was an In Like a Lion, Out Like an Ill-Tempered Housecat kind of year for us. We were finally able to rediscover sleep, sleep, happy sleep, and found ourselves no longer dangling you at arm’s length each time you hiccuped – for fear that we would be drenched in a shower of puke. You had tubes put in to alleviate your “glue ear” and in the last two months you were able to finally push through those nasty two-year molars. Check, check annnnnd check.

And so, with all the physical stuff finding equilibrium, we are left with just the screaming.

But you know what else we are left with? The cute. The talking. The singing. The jumping and the joke telling. And in the last couple of months, it is as though your developmental process ignited its turbo-boosters. I am starting to get a sinking feeling that it won’t be long before you and your sister will no longer be independent units of crazy, but will instead unite and create an impenetrable front of crazy that will be the source of my total undoing.

Your language development is coming at a frightening pace, yet still tends revolve around a growing pool of verb commands – most ending in an exclamation point, or seven. (Wahn To!, Hab It! Do It!), and your father continues to perpetuate this process by speaking to you like a caveman. It is only a matter of time before the two of you are referring to each other as Duuuuude. Which brings up that other thing: You are a boy. As in, not a girl. And although this seems rather obvious and lacking in need of description, it is actually huge. Everyone is quick to point out what they consider to be typical boy behavior, yet I really have had no idea what to expect. And you have not disappointed. You are a total cuddler, my affectionate little creature who would sit on my lap for the better part of a day if I let you. You don’t watch TV – it holds little interest to you, and no matter how much I have begged you to lounge in front of a movie so I can get something done, you are completely disinterested. I have mentioned that car/truck/tractor thing about once or fifty times now, and it truly is the most stereotypical “boy” thing you do. But, it had nothing to do with us, and everything to do with your titanium reinforced will. Distracting you is only useful about half the time, and more recently we have gone back to spelling things so that we don’t inadvertently remind you of that thing we just spent an hour trying to make you forget. Like every time we try to wash your precious blanket. You, my son, have actually stood in front of the washer screaming for the entire duration of a wash cycle.

And Porter, I don’t really know how else to say this except well, in this house, the OCD doesn’t fall far from the tree. You have inherited unmistakable aspects of your dad’s doorknob touching tendencies. You refuse to wear your shirt if it gets wet, clawing and screaming at it, until we remove the garment, as it is obviously eating off your skin. Another gem that has surfaced recently is that because of your 4 new molars, you have become a hydrant of drool, and while sucking your thumb, you’ll realize that your entire forearm is wet with drool. It is at this point that you’ll usually hold up your thumb and say, “Finger wet.” Indicating that we need to dry it off for you. And then I look at your father and make that face that says, “I’m not gonna say it.”

Your relationship with your sister in many ways is exactly the same as it has always been. You love her, because it just wouldn’t ever occur to you that there is any other option – except of course, to be venomously irate at her. In this way, you two have become so very sibling-like. Within seconds of separating you two from a fight where I am certain that one of you is going to lose an ear, I will hear you calling, “Telllllla! Tellllllla!” because the thought of not being right there doing exactly what she is doing is unfathomable to you. You copy her every move, but still become insanely jealous when she is on my lap. It is only recently that I have been able to convince you that you both can sit there at the same time. That is, until I eject you both for fighting.

Although I have spent many a post enumerating all the ways you have fine tuned the art of screaming, I don’t think there is a website big enough to accommodate all of the cute. It is of monumental scale – this cute of yours. I see it every day – in everything you do, when you say peeez and kee-koo (please and thank you), in the way that you say ummmm before answering a question, in your belly laugh, and in your sweet thumb-sucking, blanket carrying self.

Happy Birthday, little man.

Love,
Mom

The setup:
The original version of this joke (as told by your sister): Knock, Knock | Who’s There? | Squirrel. | Squirrel Who? | Squirrel’s looking for you because he thinks you’re nuts!

Your version is, well, see for yourself…