Mac learned the hard way not to harass X-Man. X-Man bites, and bites like he means it. He was annoyed at me last week and lunged for my nose. There’s more to fear from X-Man’s teeth than from North Korea. In fact, looking at Kim Jung Inflated, one bite from X-Man might be enough to end all the grandstanding.

X-Man’s entering one of my favorite ages. He’s twenty months now. He’s much more capable and communitive and is able to avoid the frustrations that come around eighteen months. He’s talking, although pretty much all he says is food related. He’s the only child I’ve ever seen rock out to organ music.

He is obsessed with telephones. Which would be cute, except I caught him talking to his sippy cup, while it poured into his ear.  I wonder if the pediatrician has ever seen swimmer’s ear from a lack of a valve on a sippy cup. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if he did end up with swimmer’s ear after his pool experience.

I have been blessed with fairly cautious children. Not intimidated, but they knew their limits and enjoyed life within them. Not so with X-Man. Or at least he thinks that his physical limits are actually personal insults. It is outrageous that he is unable to walk wherever he so desires, most especially in a pool. He kept plowing ahead, and yelling his outrage as the water lapped up his nose.  He’s also the first child I’ve had that wasn’t frightened when he ended up underwater. He just sputtered himself clear and continued on his way. He is also the youngest I’ve had figure out that if he climbs out of the pool, he can get to the way awesome stuff faster.

It certainly didn’t come as any surprise that he figured out how to flip the deadbolt on the door and make a break for it. Although that it’s probably not the best term for it. At least what was happening at first. He would yell “bye bye” and then head out. By the end of the morning, he had learned that shouting his final regards was not the key to success. But his definition of success changes more often than his diaper. Sometimes it was the actual sneaking outside and running down the driveway. But that involved squealing in delight, which would blow his cover. Or then it might just be getting outside, so that he could open the door up and call out “hi.” Then there was the ever fun game of opening up the front door yelling “bye bye” at an imaginary visitor and then slamming it again. He makes sure to mix it up enough that there is no resting for mommy.

I wonder what his reaction to Gestating Cinco’s arrival will be. I have yet to deal with a jealous older sibling. But poor X-Man is by far the youngest old sibling in our family. He loves his independence, but he also firmly believes that he is most free in his mother’s arms. He has little interest in babies, unlike Mac who started a countdown to Gestating Cinco’s arrival. However, as we careened into the second hour of Good Friday services, X-Man discovered a baby doll laying on the floor of the cry room. He promptly returned it to the proper “mother.” Who threw it. And X-Man sought it out and returned it again. Unlike his reaction to thrown balls and the like, X-Man carefully walked the little doll back to the unskilled mother.

So I’m not concerned about him trying to throw his sister. That’s step one. Not taking his sister with him on renegade trips out the front door will most likely be step two.