How Old Are They?
Abbie is two-and-a-half-years-old.* The boys are 14-months-old.** I know that. Ellie knows that. Well-meaning gift-givers know that even when they give them toys clearly labeled “for ages 3 & up.” Nobody else knows that, though. My kids don’t realize how old they are, either.
I took the kids to a new playgroup yesterday. The age question was popular with all the moms in attendance. I grew a little tired of answering it, but hearing “how old are they?” repeatedly was less annoying than the one time I heard “which boy is older?”*** The age question even provided me amusement when one mom turned it around, and tried guessing their ages. She guessed Abbie was four-years-old.
The thought of Abbie looking like four-years-old floored me. My Abbie, who doesn’t talk, eats Play-Doh and dog food, and sees the potty as nothing more than a chair, looks like she’s four-years-old. I’m already thinking about delaying her entry into kindergarten by a year or five to give her a chance to catch up to her peers, but apparently I could sneak her into school next year if I wanted.
Abbie is big for her age and gender. She’s not huge, but she’s solid with a good height that gives me hope for an athletic scholarship even if the speech never comes. I’d guess she’s about 38 inches tall and 34 pounds on the scales. It helped her appearance that I dressed her in her tight jeans yesterday, the ones that I have to struggle to slip over her hips, the ones that accentuate her long legs, the ones that represent the style I will not allow her to wear outside the house from the time she starts school until she leaves for college on that athletic scholarship.
That four-years-old comment went to her head, because she also to nap yesterday. “I’m four-years-old,” she likely thought, “what use do I have for a nap?” She spent the rest of the day feeling the effects of her fatigue and not ignoring everything I tell her, which is a noticeable change from her usual rate of responding to the 9% of things I tell her.
Ian’s age confusion went the other way yesterday. As a 14-month-old, he’s firmly in the two-nap-a-day category. He ordinarily naps once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. The playgroup must have drained him, though, because he fell asleep in the car on the way home about 45 minutes before his regularly scheduled naptime.
I got him out after a quick car nap, played with him to drain him, set him down for his real nap, and listened to him scream. He was fully refreshed from his 5 minutes in the car, and refused to nap again. I pulled him out, and kept him busy until Tory woke by introducing him to Abbie’s wonderful world of morning wake time.
45 minutes later we were back out the door. This time we went out to eat for an afternoon treat. Ian of course fell asleep during the 10-minute car trip. On the way home, he fell asleep again.
Miraculously, he took his regularly scheduled afternoon nap for his fourth nap yesterday. He hasn’t napped that many times in a day since his first weeks home from the hospital. I need to find a way to harness this return to the four-nap-a-day routine. Maybe I could just tell him he’s 6-weeks-old again, and enjoy all the free time as he naps. Of course I’d have to remind him he’s 14-months-old before every bedtime to make him sleep through the night.
* Give or take a few weeks.
** Give or take a few days.
*** Ian is. By three minutes. Because the doctor pulled him out first. What does it matter?
I took the kids to a new playgroup yesterday. The age question was popular with all the moms in attendance. I grew a little tired of answering it, but hearing “how old are they?” repeatedly was less annoying than the one time I heard “which boy is older?”*** The age question even provided me amusement when one mom turned it around, and tried guessing their ages. She guessed Abbie was four-years-old.
The thought of Abbie looking like four-years-old floored me. My Abbie, who doesn’t talk, eats Play-Doh and dog food, and sees the potty as nothing more than a chair, looks like she’s four-years-old. I’m already thinking about delaying her entry into kindergarten by a year or five to give her a chance to catch up to her peers, but apparently I could sneak her into school next year if I wanted.
Abbie is big for her age and gender. She’s not huge, but she’s solid with a good height that gives me hope for an athletic scholarship even if the speech never comes. I’d guess she’s about 38 inches tall and 34 pounds on the scales. It helped her appearance that I dressed her in her tight jeans yesterday, the ones that I have to struggle to slip over her hips, the ones that accentuate her long legs, the ones that represent the style I will not allow her to wear outside the house from the time she starts school until she leaves for college on that athletic scholarship.
That four-years-old comment went to her head, because she also to nap yesterday. “I’m four-years-old,” she likely thought, “what use do I have for a nap?” She spent the rest of the day feeling the effects of her fatigue and not ignoring everything I tell her, which is a noticeable change from her usual rate of responding to the 9% of things I tell her.
Ian’s age confusion went the other way yesterday. As a 14-month-old, he’s firmly in the two-nap-a-day category. He ordinarily naps once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. The playgroup must have drained him, though, because he fell asleep in the car on the way home about 45 minutes before his regularly scheduled naptime.
I got him out after a quick car nap, played with him to drain him, set him down for his real nap, and listened to him scream. He was fully refreshed from his 5 minutes in the car, and refused to nap again. I pulled him out, and kept him busy until Tory woke by introducing him to Abbie’s wonderful world of morning wake time.
45 minutes later we were back out the door. This time we went out to eat for an afternoon treat. Ian of course fell asleep during the 10-minute car trip. On the way home, he fell asleep again.
Miraculously, he took his regularly scheduled afternoon nap for his fourth nap yesterday. He hasn’t napped that many times in a day since his first weeks home from the hospital. I need to find a way to harness this return to the four-nap-a-day routine. Maybe I could just tell him he’s 6-weeks-old again, and enjoy all the free time as he naps. Of course I’d have to remind him he’s 14-months-old before every bedtime to make him sleep through the night.
* Give or take a few weeks.
** Give or take a few days.
*** Ian is. By three minutes. Because the doctor pulled him out first. What does it matter?
posted by Matt at
11:50 PM
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