If I could describe Henry in one word, it would be “poop.” No, no. I’m kidding. The word would be “sweet.”
Henry is a really sweet little kid. He is nice to other boys and girls (reluctantly and not without some gentle reminders he will share toys), he is polite (he’s gotten the pleases and thank-yous down pretty well), and he’s even been coming up to Kristen and I and telling us that he loves us or that he wants a hug or a kiss. He takes well to our friends and our neighbors and is always smiling and laughing.
Like I said: sweet.
This sweetness has come with another trait recently. That would be timid.
Lately, Henry has become very easily spooked, to the point where he even jumps a bit when he hears Cecil lumbering down the hallway. He hides from anything that is even remotely different. He is reluctant to try anything new. He’s scared of everything, it seems.
This isn’t an observation so much as he tells us that he’s scared. “Daddy, I’m scared of big pumpkins.” “Okay, Henry.” “Daddy, I’m scared of dolphins.” “Okay, Henry.” “Daddy, I’m scared of John Boehner.” “Okay, Henry.” (Note: I made one of those three things up.)
This is likely a phase, and we’re all okay with it. Although I have to admit that I get somewhat concerned when Henry seems to be afraid of even wonderful things, like Santa Claus or Big Slides. What’s a big slide, you say?
A couple of weeks ago, an ex-co-worker invited us to her daughter’s third birthday party that was to be held at a suburban Pump-it-Up. What’s a Pump-it-Up, you ask? It’s one of those places that have large inflatable bouncy rooms and slides where kids eat a lot of cake and then bounce for hours and, hopefully, not throw up.
Henry and I drove out to Schaumberg (oh, how I hate the suburbs), and after watching a short safety video (that Henry and all the other 2-, 3-, and 4-year-olds just were enraptured of), we headed off to the room where all the bouncy things were. The room was big and a little dark and very loud from all of the fans keeping the inflatable things puffy. And within 10 seconds of entering the room, Henry’s head was buried in my neck and he demanded that we go home immediately.
“Daddy, no big slide. No big slide!”
“What’s wrong, Henry?
“Big slide is scary. It’s scary! Let’s go home and play cars.”
And so we went out into the waiting room, called up Kristen, and Henry explained to her that the big slide was very scary and that he’d much rather be at home playing with his cars and trains and parking garages and perhaps even take a nap.
So that’s what we did. (He didn’t even allow me to go back inside and say goodbye to my friend.) This isn’t the only time that he’s refused to do something because he was scared of late. We saw Santa Claus (who we’ll talk about a bit later) at a local mall recently. We didn’t see him as in get on his lap or anything. We just saw him. But that was enough for Henry to make the widest arc possible around him.
I hope that this is just a phase, but if it’s not, that’s okay, too. We’re not going to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, and that means likely no visit to Santa this year and no trips to Pump-it-Up for a while either.
But even if he does grow out of it, I hope he still retains the sweetness.
So, other than Henry being a shy, what else have we learned?
We learned that Henry is in the middle of another growth spurt. We cannot get enough food down the kid’s throat of late. Pasta, potatoes, soup, yogurt, hot dogs. You name it, he’s eating it with ravenous gusto. (Everything but fruit. He still doesn’t eat fruit.) This growth spurt has meant that everything about him has gotten larger. He seems like he’s grown 6 inches in the past month. He’s really heavy to carry. And his feet are gigantic. We’ve had to buy new shoes twice in the past three months, his feet are growing so fast. 2T shirts no longer fit, and 3Ts are even getting a little short. (His pants are another story. Because he’s still really skinny — regardless of how much he eats — and his butt is really flat, pants that are the right length fall off him and pants that are the right waist and high-waters.)
We learned that Henry loves the idea of Santa Claus a lot more than he loves Santa Claus. Kristen and I started talking about Santa a few weeks ago, telling Henry that he’s a big fat man with a beard who comes once a year and gives good girls and boys a few presents. Well, presents is one thing that Henry likes even more than pasta, so he quickly embraced the idea of a fat man bearing gifts. He’s already got his list: cars, trucks, and a skid steer. A skid steer, people! At first, Henry was up to going up and asking Santa for these things. But after seeing him in all his glory at the mall, he’s decided that I’m going to go up and sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what Henry wants. Heaven help a mall Santa who has my girth on top of him. But Henry needs not worry. We’ll write a letter.
We learned that Henry remembers things. Not regular things, like the names of his cars or his stuffed dog. But he remembers things from six months ago, like friends of Kristen’s we saw when we were in Florida last. Or other people that he’s met only once. I don’t know why this is astonishing to me — but remembrance seems to be such an abstract thing, and it’s neat that he’s grasping it.
We learned that Henry’s getting really good at talking. Really good. Like to the point where he starts talking and won’t stop. And he’s started to understand how past tense works and how to make a word plural. Sure, sometimes he’ll say “feets” instead of “foots” or “mouses” instead of “mice”, but he’ll get there. (Our favorite is instead of “hugs”, he’ll say “hugses”. Nothing cuter than that, is there.) He can count up to 12 and he’s pretty good with the alphabet. Now all we have to work on is colors. Henry, not everything is purple. Remember that.
We learned that Henry loves visits from his grandfather. Opa (Kristens’ father) came for a few days over the Thanksgiving week, and Henry liked nothing more than dragging him around, showing off all his toys and books and signing his favorite songs.
And we learned that, even after two haircuts, there are still some curls left. Not as many as before his first cut, and even less than after his second. But when wet or when it’s humid outside, his golden locks reappear. And there’s nothing better.
