The child has a death wish. Really. There is no other way to explain it.
...what? You have an explanation for the 150 pound filing cabinet crashing down, missing him by mere millimeters? And the shattered drinking glass from whose jagged rim he was drinking? And the pieces of ingested glass that, miraculously, did no harm on the way out?
Oh yeah. Toddlerhood. He's not even two yet. I shudder to think of what he'll accomplish when he can process thoughts and act on those thoughts more efficiently.
On the other hand, he really is exceptionally cute and endearing. He is trying to say more new words lately. He has learned how to ask to watch "Cars", his favorite movie ever and even does the accompanying sign we made up. So cute. If I had any inkling that I could get him to do it on command I would try to post a video of it.
Just so no one thinks that it is "All Adam, All the Time" at our house, let me tell you about Mike. I recently discovered this:
"What is this?"
"It's my lint collection, Mom."
"It's cool. Don't throw it away, okay?"
Apparently, he keeps all of the lint out of his pockets and any pieces he finds laying around. He thought he'd hit the mother-lode when he helped me do laundry and saw the dryer's lint trap and was upset when I wouldn't let him keep that bit of lint. But you have to admire his tenacity. It's a pretty good sized lump if you consider the size of pieces that he's been collecting.
When I told Morgan about this, his reaction was, "You let him keep it?!?! There is no hope for that boy."
It's true. He is on the fast track to nerd-dom. Further proof of this is his fascination with Sci-Fi. He loves Star Wars. Loves it. He has a book that details all of the ships flown in the series, who is the ship's pilot, details on the ship's capabilities, etc. He knows everything there is to know about Star Wars. Recently he discovered Star Trek and was instantly hooked. He likes to watch Antiques Road Show. We were doing dishes the other day and he actually said, "There is some kind of fluid in this cup." What kind of eight-year-old talks like that?
Oh, I love my kids.
I hope that this doesn't seem mean or spiteful, but I saw this yesterday and was instantly reminded of Mike:
Mike, if you're reading this, I love you. I love your geekiness. And I love that your personality will probably save you from a plethora of teenage troubles.
Update: While posting this blog, Jack let out a blood-curdling shriek. I turned around to find Adam lovingly feeding his little brother his bottle. In his eye.