Hello again.

I’m so out of practice with this. I can’t remember—how was this done, again? Where did my ideas come from? Was I clever? It’s all a blur.

In a nutshell: there was a car accident on our corner, Henry and I witnessed it and were almost victims, and I suffered some post-traumatic stress that involved a lot of shaking and nibbling at fingernails and shaking and not-sleeping and not-eating and, um, shaking. Back when I wrote my last post, I thought I’d share all the details when I returned, but now that my heart rate is back to normal, I no longer have the superhuman (read: insane) energy I had then. But I am all better now, and isn’t that all that matters? I have received the Appropriate Treatments, my brains have been scrubbed clean of the bad thoughts, scrubscrubscrub, and now I am happy Happy HAPPY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

HA!

Hey, where are you--Wait, come back!

In better news, today was Henry’s 2nd birthday. He had his girlfriend over for dinner. They gazed into each other’s eyes, caressed each other’s cheeks with macaroni-and-cheese-encrusted fingers, and screamed over the rightful use and ownership of various trucks and trains. So pretty much what me and the Husband do on any given night.

Have I bragged about my kid enough? I kind of can’t believe how much I lucked out with him. He’s so happy and sweet and oh my god, he couldn’t be more affectionate. He is composed purely of love, as my husband likes to say. He’s, and let’s just put it out there, let us not be modest—jaw-droppingly gorgeous. I mean, come on:

But he’s not just a pretty boy, oh no. This boy has ideas. He’ll go off on riffs about turtles on the ocean and the waves going WHOOSH and how the turtles don’t live in the waterfall which is in the park and the waterfall there also goes WHOOSH and the turtle is on his hand but ha ha there’s no turtle there ha ha and all I can do is sit back and wonder what planet he came from.

He has turns of phrase that neither of us gave him, like “Big fun!” whenever he goes down the slide, or, alternately, “Too much fun!” His new habit is to give each day a theme; if it’s not a beautiful day, it’s a “Going to the Zoo Day” (mind you, this is before I was aware we were going to the zoo) or a “New Friend Day” or a “Hitting the Dog with a Tonka Truck Day.”

Incidentally, at his 2-year checkup yesterday, I learned that my boy weighs 34 back-breaking pounds (96th percentile) and is 35 inches tall (68th? Or something). My son is a square. Well, sort of. Also, his head was so big (because it is so full of dreams) they had to make a new chart for it. We went to a new doctor, whom Henry took a liking to and covered with kisses before we left (and not before careening bare-assed through the halls—apparently it was “Streaking Some Nurses Day”). And the new doctor said, “Are you afraid someone might steal this kid?” I sort of am. So don’t even think about it or I will be so mad.

Toddlers are both cute and difficult! Hey!

It appears that, as the toddler grows, the endearing behaviors must increase in direct proportion to the less-than-charming tendencies. If the toddler failed to kick his/her cuteness into high gear, one would simply leave the toddler on the side of the road, and skip away merrily, singing a little song to oneself, tra la.

So, for instance, we begin the day with the following uncuteness:

Henry decides he hates my breakfast, which happened to be a crumpet covered in almond butter. My crumpet! My breakfast-y delight, all my own, which was not bothering him one bit! He lunges at my plate and slaps at the sticky almond buttered top until the entire crumpet attaches itself to his hand, and then runs shrieking toward the dog, who is only too happy to help him out, crumpet-wise.

It was my last crumpet. I wanted that crumpet. Ever had a crumpet? They're good.

But before I can kick him to the curb, the above is canceled out by the extreme adorability of the following:

We run into Henry’s girlfriend E. (and yes, I mean girlfriend—I watch him running his fingers through her hair and covering her face in kisses and I want to either get them married NOW or lock him up until he’s 16) and her mother on the street; as we adults discuss our plans to escape someday to a Land Where No One Attacks Breakfasts, Henry takes E.’s hand and the two of them toddle down the street hand in hand, grinning. Then Henry turns to her and says, “Beautiful day.”

Can one abandon such a child on the street? It appears that one cannot. Once again the toddler wins.

Have you been half-asleep? AND HAVE YOU HEARD VOICES?

People! People! Do you think I would leave you just like that? I was just expressing some doubts, is all. I wasn't really going to up and close down the store. But thank you for your words of encouragement, your emails, and your presents. Sorry I had to return the pony. He had a soft, damp nose, and I named him Mr. Sparkles. But the co-op board said I couldn't keep him.

In other news, work (real, paid work! Egads!) continues apace. I wish I could give you the details, but if I have learned anything from the lovely Dooce, it's that talking about work on the blog is verboten. Suffice it to say that it's a dream assignment, both entertaining and well-paying, and I couldn't be more pleased. I'm a bit hard to take lately, in fact. I keep kissing my reflection and interrupting conversations with loud outbursts of "I ROCK."

Now, about Henry. If a 21-month-old can be obsessive/compulsive, Henry fits the bill. He's down with OCD, as they say. Certain items, people, bits of media, etc. seem to inspire in him a combination of terror and reverence that is all-consuming. Today's obsessions are BLENDERS, VACUUMS, and THE RAINBOW CONNECTION. He wakes up and demands to see the BLENDER. He wants to look at the BLENDER. Let him touch said BLENDER. Then he will make THE BLENDER NOISE. The BLENDER goes EEEEEEGH. Turn it on! he demands. But do not do it, for if you do, there will be tears, and much clutching at the neck, and your shirt will get all damp.

After breakfast, he wants to retire to his parents' bedroom, where the VACUUM lives. VACUUM, he says, and points. VACUUM. The VACUUM goes EEEEEEGH. The VACUUM sounds suspiciously like the BLENDER. But do not touch the VACUUM! Or go near it! To do so would bring much shrieking and upset and subsequent incoherent babbling about the VACUUM, not to mention the BLENDER. Speaking of which. It's back to the kitchen for both of you, where you shall look at and discuss the BLENDER. EEEEEGH. Do you like that sound? EEEEEEGH.

Before his nap, he must hear RAINBOW. Short for the above-mentioned song, of course. SING IT. While singing it, he will become both entranced and agitated, sweetly mouthing the words and gazing up at you until you think you might never make it back to the office and then GRABBING YOUR LOWER LIP while you're singing and crying MORE! MORE! until you want to scream I'M ALREADY SINGING IT, I CAN'T BE MORE SINGING THAN I AM CURRENTLY SINGING. You will sing it again and again and again, all the while wondering what was UP with Kermit, with his strange conviction that there's a connection between rainbows and--and what? What are the lovers and the dreamers and he rooting around rainbows for? And what's with the voices calling his name? NEVER MIND THAT JUST KEEP SINGING.

EEEEEEEGH.

The shaking will burn off all the brownie calories, right?

Can someone please, please tell me: why did I eat two brownies and drink an iced coffee, just now? Why did I do it? Do I enjoy the feeling of bugs crawling under my skin? Historically, I have not found it to be a fun-time sensation. So, knowing that this is how I will feel after I have made this kind of dietary choice, why did I soldier forth with the two-brownies-and-iced-coffee initiative?

I’m an idiot, I truly am. Why are you bothering with me?

But here’s a not-bad picture of me! And my husband! (He would want me tell you that he doesn’t always look that surprised.) And my son—wait, that’s not my son. It’s my friend’s baby. And look how cute she is! Her name is Tallulah. Could there be a better name? I don’t think so! Sweet Christ, I’m trembling from the caffeine and the sugar! Exclamation!

I thought Henry was napping, but now I hear him singing to himself. The singing is new. Once, when he was a few months old, he hummed "Ode to Joy" (I am NOT KIDDING) and we all gazed in wonderment at Henry, Child Prodigy, but then he clammed up, singing-wise. Right now he’s singing the ABC song, but he gets stuck after "d," so he just sings, "A, b, c, d, ...d, d, d....d, d, d, d, dddd...d..." I can’t figure out why he sounds so cheerful, as he’s had diarrhea and a fever all day. I would be less inclined to lie in bed crooning my favorite ditties, if I were simultaneously soiling myself with watery, burning poo.

You know what I could really go for right now? A brownie.