"This button.  Right here!"

 He's so damn smart.  By the end of the week, he was terrorizing Kinder Major and their cousin, monopolizing the mini John Deere for his own nefarious purposes.

That is where it gets some people.  He doesn't LOOK sick. Most days he isn't.  There are little things that stick out to anyone watching closely, though.  At just a few months shy of his second birthday, he weighs less than his sister did at ten months old.  He is just under the third percentile for height.  His head, however, is charting at a whopping 30%.  See? I told you he's smart.

The newest addition to our cast of misfit characters, we'll call him Pater Pueri, fiercely insists that there is nothing wrong with him, just like he fiercely insists that he is PP's own son, blood be damned.  I love him for many many reasons, but those two may have been what sealed the deal for me all that time ago.

He's not incorrect in that assertion; there is nothing wrong with our son.  Our son seems to be experiencing some... technical difficulties... if you will.

I posted a bit ago about the result of our visit with the genetics team, an appointment that was a year and two months in the making.  There were no definite answers.  That status... remains.  Frustratingly. 

Tonight is no different as frustration goes.  I'm up, feeling unwell myself, and to occupy myself away from my own gastric distress, I sit and play armchair diagnostician, constantly asking myself "Okay, if this is another dead end, where do we go next?  What do we try?  Who do we see?"

My little Bug.  He was conceived under less than stellar circumstances, and he hung with me through my body's silent but bloody coup d'etat, to be delivered unto me purple and surly-faced, leaving me utterly and endlessly smitten.  His young life has been eventful, and will continue to be.  My young life will grow gradually older, striving every minute to do for him what I simultaneously spend every minute doing for his sister: making sure that there is only the shadow of the universe's chaos that could sentence me to watching my little loves whisper away.

Caution: Imaginations at play!

So, Kinder Major has had a recurring case of Strep for the past month or so, which means there's been a lot of time spent hanging out and relaxing while we work through symptoms, antibiotics, and mandatory time out of school.

During this time, I've noticed a huge cognitive leap in her.  Her imagination has suddenly taken off!  Not that she didn't engage in imagination play before - she did.  It was definitely limited to tangible concepts, though.  Playing with dolls meant that they were locked into familial roles, blocks were objects she saw every day, and reading story books was less imagining what was going on with the characters in the pictures and more reciting what she remembered from when I read the story to her originally.

This past month I have seen her explore new territories like never before.  Dolls now have many different roles, from family groups to movie stars and explorers of space, sea and jungle alike.  Story books are read with elaborate tales surrounding the illustrations.  (We're working on reading and spelling.  For now, I listen as she makes up her own stories.)  Blocks and legos are used to make submarines, rocket ships, fairy houses and fantastical vehicles for monsters and pets.  Every day items are used to invent and build, often to my consternation when it involves rolls of toilet paper being unrolled, or booby traps of duct tape and paper clips.

She "writes" letters full of nonsense letters and numbers strung together, mixed in with the words she knows how to read and write. She makes cards for any and every occasion, she decorates and adorns with pleasure and an artistic freedom that every artist I know would be colored green with envy by.

Outside time is spent planting 100 foot bean stalks and mixing witch's brew out of leaves and mud.  She climbs trees and pretends they are her pirate ships and she is the captain.  When she's dirty and covered in the evidence of her play like chalk dust, she becomes a zombie or a mummy, intent on sucking out brains and tickling to death.  (Gotta love my horror baby.)

In addition to her imagination, she has an appreciation for concepts that most children at her age have yet to comprehend.  For Mother's Day, her teacher engaged the class in a project of appreciation to send home to the moms/caregivers.  Each child drew and colored a picture, and then the children sat with the teacher or one of the helpers and dictated why they love their mothers.  Kinder Major's teacher pulled me aside after school on Friday and thanked me.  My face must have been openly bemused, because she hurried to explain that Kinder Major was the only child in the class to list the reasons she loved me as something other than the things I've bought her or places I've taken her.  Instead, her reasons for loving me were the various things I've taught her and the fact that I love her "forever and ever as much as all the world."  I couldn't hide the tears that came to my eyes.

It's so awesome to me to watch her grow as a little person, to see her mind evolve with her body.  Yes, it's oftentimes bittersweet, but sweet is the key word.  She is a kind-hearted, happy child who knows that she is loved and has support in everything she wants to do.  As long as she continues to feel this way, I will be re-assured that I am doing right by her.

She's right.  I do love her, forever and ever and as much as the whole world.  She IS my world, and I'm so very lucky to be her mommy.