Growing Up

Two weeks ago, as I dragged the boys along for Jane's preschool pick-up, we saw a firetruck.

Elliot became his usually animated self upon seeing the truck and started listing all the interesting things about the truck and firefighters.

I asked him if he wanted to be a firefighter when he grew up.

"No, Mommy," he replied. "I want to be a baby when I grow up."

Thus has been the theme of our house over the past several weeks.

For some inexplicable reason, we've had a rash of fit throwing. I'm talking serious fit throwing. From EVERYone. I started thinking all three of my kids resorted (or progressed, as it would be in Owen's case) to the Terrible Two's.

People stopped eating their dinners. Fits were thrown for candy 24-hours a day. Screaming for rolled down windows. Expectations that TV and Internet would be provided during every waking hour.

I know much of this is just children, but it elevated to new and terrifying heights in recent weeks.

Mad about the movie chosen. Ten minutes later, I can hear him laughing over the dialogue.

It's taken a solid stand on my part to withstand the tempest.

Screaming at me because I had the audacity to walk 3 feet away from him.

We're making small progress.

Screaming (and pushing) at Jane because she is stealing the limelight.

Except two nights ago, when Jane finally lost her first tooth (I say finally because it's been loose for a month), which was quickly followed by her second tooth (I'm talking literal minutes).

Night of. The adult teeth are so far along, you can't tell any different when she simply smiles. But she was so proud of herself.

As soon as the first tooth came out, she began screaming. Not because it hurt (mind you there were no roots left), but because she saw blood on the tooth.

Taken today. You can see her adult teeth there ... it's made it so that you she won't have that adorable little empty space.

Elliot, our sympathetic screamer/crier, also began to scream.

"Great," I thought. "Screaming fits of terror right in time for bed."

However, when I stopped to listen, I realized Elliot was screaming one phrase over and over: "I don't want Jane to grow up!"

And he was terrified. Literally terrified at the prospect of his sister growing up.

After 15 minutes, I got him to a manageable volume and informed him he didn't need to worry, they were both growing up at the same rate -- Jane wasn't going to leave him behind.

"But Mom," he protested, "I don't want to grow up! I want to be a baby."

He got big loves at the moment and I knew what I've always known: My little loves will always be my babies. I could just really do without the baby-like fits.

You can't tell, but he's doing his characteristic displeased scream/grunt at me in this photo. He's just so cute, I couldn't help myself.