Mali at 20 Months
Edging into the twilight of toddlerdom. Sigh. She has all of the sudden started singing along with music, all of the sudden has started using her name: "Mali up! Mali all done!" etc.
She is funny and sweet and I want to eat her up. I'll have to be content with squeezing her juicy little thighs.
This age was my very favorite time with Iz. She was such a funny, cheery, clever, delightful toddler. Excerpt from Iz's journal from the days of yore:
Her latest thing is describing things in terms of what they aren’t. So we get a lot of “Izzy’s not wearing a brown hat” and “Daddy’s not naked” (particularly charming in public). She knows all her numbers to 12 and has known the alphabet for months. She can actually count to 5, and can sing part of the alphabet song (“dubba-yoo, ekk, waiyandzeeeeee”). She is able to demand that we listen to nothing but the Muppets while driving in the car. (I do take pains to assert the occasional “Mommy’s music” episode, and have been quite staunch in my refusal to cave in during those short sessions.)
Leelo at 20 months was not all that different from Iz to casual observers like his parents. He wasn't speaking in full sentences like his big sister, but how many kids that age are? Still, this was the time when the first autism bomb was lobbed into our home, and our lives jumped onto a parallel track:
Leelo is just a crazy boy. Crazy, happy, nutso, mischievous. He's a big snuggler and imitator. This is a great age (20 months).
Sometimes we feel sorry for the poor little guy, since he doesn't get the same intensive attention that his sister got. The other day he was babbling while turning the pages of his book, and we thought "How cute!" Then we listened more closely and realized he was reciting the words to the book. He loves to sing, especially the ABC or Teletubbies song, and we’ve been trying to take lots of pix and video with our faboo new digital camera and its 128 MB memory card [Note that it was appropriate to crow over such things in 2001].
While we were vacationing with friends in Sebastopol, our co-vacationeer Dr. M the pediatrician commented that Leelo didn’t seem to respond to his name. So I calmly and internally flipped out, went on some web sites, and decided that Leelo was autistic. I took our boy to our own pediatrician who did his best not to laugh at me [ignorant bastard--we switched to wonderful Dr. G two months afterwards]. We’re going to take Leelo for a hearing test and an “evaluation” anyhow since Dr. M did spend four days observing our son and did not seem to be using his buttcheeks to talk to us.
Ah, memories. I feel so fortunate that Mali seems okay, that we get to enjoy a neurotypical toddlerhood one last time. Lucky, lucky Rosenbergs.