Poor Kimble has been battling some sickness lately. Last week he developed a terrible cough and he had a fever. He was cranky and needy and so I took him in to the doctor. Turns out, in addition to that, he had an ear infection too. So we got him started on antibiotics. After a few days, he feels better now, but boy oh boy is he developing some other issues.
Kimble likes to run away from us, when we call him. Pretty much whatever we say, he does the opposite. His favorite hiding spot is underneath the kitchen table, which makes it hard to grab him unless I get under the table as well.
He wants to throw a fit over everything, which usually results in him whacking my lip/jaw/teeth/eye/nose/cheek/head with the back of his head. Ouch.
Kimble likes to torment
Georgie Kennedy. It's almost comical to watch how he tries to harass her.
Throwing. Throwing Throwing. He now wants to throw everything, and it makes it very hard to keep things from getting broken.
Relating to throwing, church functions are so hard to endure. This Sunday, he took his train toys and threw them across the pew, and I'm not sure how the nice lady sitting in front of us didn't get hit and require stitches. She must've had some guardian angels working for her that day. I can't believe the trains didn't hit her.
Screaming...oh, the screaming. He wants to yell over everything. It's hard. I completely understand that he struggles with speech, and gets very frustrated that he can't communicate what he wants..but the screaming is really really getting to me.
Oh, but then comes the kisses. Kimble likes to give me a kiss each night, as he's getting tucked into bed. He even makes the perfect kiss noise as his lips touch mine. He smiles sweetly, and then he puckers up again for another kiss.
Hugs. Kimble gives the best hugs when I'm getting him dressed. He squeezes me at every opportunity, as we are putting his arms through his shirt sleeves, or pulling up his pants, or zipping up his Mr.Roger's sweater. I love those squeezes.
Meatloaf. Meatballs. Meatloaf. Meatballs. He loves them. "More! More!" he says. Then he gets them and he says "Yeah!"
"Ma!" "Ma!" He yells for me throughout the house. I love hearing it.
He no longer is satisfied sitting in his high chair. He wants to eat at the table now with the rest of us. He doesn't want a booster seat either. He's trying to be such a big boy.
Kimble tells everyone "hi" that he sees, and when they reply back, he'll begin a long jibberish conversation with them, which leads them to stare at me and say "I didn't understand any of that, but he sure does like to talk!"
I don't clip Kimble's fingernails. It's curious to me. They simply don't grow long enough to require trimming. Maybe a heart thing? I don't know. However, it's nice not having to battle the stillness that trimming nails requires.
The Backyardigans has become his most favorite show, even above Dinosaur Train.
He is learning the sounds that animals make, so when we say "Kimble, say Dog!" he'll reply with a "ruff ruff". He loves to see the trains go by, in our town, and always yells "Choo choo!" He also has quite a few signs that he says, in sign language, "thirsty" being the most commonly used. He loves to drink water.
Kimble's next cardiology appointment is this week. I'm most interested to see if there has been any changes.