Eugenious

Sylvan is experiencing a renaissance, I think, a rebirth from babyhood and its drive toward greater mobility to toddlerhood with a goal of greater understanding and communication (not that mobility is taking a backseat; see “My son is a monkey.”). I suppose Sylvan’s great leap in communication started in December, when he started to mimic words, but he’s really blossomed in the past couple of weeks.

Sylvan started singing. It started with “rum sum sum,” a song with hand motions that keeps him from going nutso in the carseat; then, in the car last night, he started patting his knees and singing “dum dit dum dit,” which is similar to the rhythmic refrain in his book Hand Hand Fingers Thumb. He also sang with his friend Leo’s piano today, doing his bobbing dance and singing “dum dit dum dit.”

His vocabulary continues to develop at the rate of 2-3 new words a day. This morning we found out that he knows “shaving,” then he said “penguin” this afternoon, and he’s gaining prepositions, like “on” and “under,” with their related concepts.

Sylvan’s personality is becoming more apparent, especially when we spend time with his peers. Sylvan is happy! He plays contentedly on his own and will talk to himself in his crib about what he sees before falling asleep. At our Birth to Three meetings, he plays in the playroom next door to the adult room for two hours, coming in occasionally to flash a big, dimpled smile and ask for a snack. Ah, I love my little independent.

Sylvan is also sweet. His passive nature means that he doesn’t really mind when his toys get taken or when another toddler pokes his nose. He moves on, which is a trait I admire. We might have to do some assertiveness training later, but it’s a nice quality in a toddler – and it would be a nice quality in me.

One of the small, agile, climbing kinds. Like a marmoset.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to hear Sylvan talking. I often wake up like this, lying there listening to my son and my husband conversing downstairs. Usually, it sounds like this: “Rubboo . . . on,” followed by Chris’s explanation that rubber-soled shoes only go on when we’re going outside. On Sunday, Sylvan was saying “up,” a word succeeded only a second later by a big thud. And Chris was still next to me in bed! Uh-oh. I ran into Sylvan’s room, where I found him on his hands and knees on the floor, looking surprised with big tears running down his cheeks. Chris quickly gave Sylvan a little head-to-toe pat-down (no broken bones) while I kissed the tears away. So the comfort of having Sylvan caged up like an animal in his bed is coming to an end.

On Sunday evening, we put Sylvan to sleep in a Pack ‘n’ Play, since it’s a little deeper than his crib. I paused the movie, The Singing Detective (even though it’s Robert Downey, Jr., don’t bother), because I heard Sylvan’s doorknob jiggling. Yes, the little escape artist had stealthily scaled the playpen walls, letting himself down gently on the other side. I put him back in so he’d do it again. It was an impressive display of strength and flexibility. He hooked his left heel over, pulled his whole body up, swung his body over the top, and lowered himself gently to the ground. As frustrated as I was that I couldn’t think of how to contain our too-young-to-be-reasoned-with little boy, I was proud of his persistence and agility.

Chris MacGyvered Sylvan’s crib so that the mattress is resting on crates, six inches below where it used to sit. Sylvan might be able to get out of that, too, but he hasn’t yet. He has a nest of sleeping bags and pillows in front of the crib onto which he can throw himself if he feels so inclined. The next step is the mattress on the floor. So my little boy will be up and prowling the corners of his room at night, figuring out how to remove the safety plugs from the outlets and how to scale the bookcase.