I wonder how Baby B will do on his SAT’s?

Baby B and I share many traits; we are both emotional, lovable, self-centered, charming, fatter than our siblings and neither of us do well on standardized tests.

Yes, we know this now, just after his second birthday. How do we know?

Get this:

Baby B and Baby A were part of a study at our local famous teaching university. It took several visits and many, many tests to evaluate them as part of the control group for the university’s Autism Center. We went to the hospital three times, each time for about three hours, and met with a dizzying number of graduate students, MD’s, research fellows and Autism experts. The general results of all these evaluations and tests tell us that both babies are totally on track and just where they should be for their age. They are with the 55th percentile of 24 to 30 month olds as far as socialization, speech, comprehension, physical abilities (both fine and gross motor skills) and so on. Except in one area: according to the Center, Baby B has difficulty managing his emotions, especially those stemming from frustration. This is because he had two leetle toss-things-around-type tantrums whilst at the center. Once he did it because a test he was doing got too difficult and another because, well, it was 4:30 in the afternoon and he hadn’t napped yet. As his devoted mama, I know this, but the director of the center gently and solemnly advised me to call Birth to Three to see if they could help him out with Behavioral Therapy.

Well! I was a tiny bit disturbed by this information, but I also used it as an opportunity to see how the DH and I could help Mister B ourselves at home. After some observation and analysis of ourselves, it turns out that since Baby A does so much talking and since his speech is so clear and easily understood, both the DH and I were not giving Baby B enough time and enough opportunity to make himself understood. As a result, he was not getting what he wanted and was then getting pissed. Well, duh. It makes sense.

So, for the month following the Autism Studies until we has the Birth to Three program come over for an evaluation, we had been letting him take his time, and we were paying better attention to his speech. We both really do understand more of what he is trying to communicate. Of course, time is a factor, but extra concentrated attention to a 26 month old who is constantly in competition with his twin is also helpful. Baby A is fine with this – I think he likes it when we get Baby B to say what he wants and needs. It saves Baby A from getting stuck trying to “translate” for his oblivious parents.

Anyway, Birth to Three came over today. They met Baby B, asked some questions, and we all settled down to test the lad. He sat on my lap, because they had heard he was “uncooperative.” After playing two games with the nice lady, he got off my lap, settled down to concentrate in front of her and proceeded to charm her to bits.

Yes, in his own home and after a refreshing nights sleep, he is absolutely cooperative, un-tantrum-ish and quite a darling too! He completed all their tests, got everything right and totally disqualified himself from the program. It was so funny when they were asking him to repeat numbers back to them. I'm sure it was a fluke, but here's what he said:

Evaluator: Baby B, can you say one three?
Baby B: One Free
Evaluator: Can you say six four?
Baby B: Six four
Evaluator: What about nine seven
Baby B: Sixteen

We all got a chuckle from that. When I told the DH he said, "You know, he might just be a genius, and that's why he gets so angry." And here I thought a baby's mother was supposed give her child 200% credit...

When they were tidying up and saying "Bye Bye" to the boys and smiling and laughing at Baby A and B saying "Bye Bye" and waving back in unison, one of the evaluators asked me in a low voice, “And exactly why did the Autism Center feel he needed therapy? He is right on track and a nice boy too.”

I felt like I had wasted their time, but felt relieved too. With my 20-20 goggles on I can now see that the Autism Center caught Baby B at a bad time (pre-nap) on one day, and pushed him too fast on the following day. Add the fact that I wasn’t in the room when he went berserk, and you get a slightly skewed view of Baby B's emotional health.

Birth to Three saw him in his natural habitat, and pronounced him A-Ok. I guess all them doctors really don’t know ever’thin.

Snippets of conversations...

...for your voyeuristic pleasure.

I was at a friend’s house, and Baby B was amusing himself with a toy work bench and tool set. Here is a sentence you will only ever hear in a home with a toddler:

“Be gentle with the hatchet, Honey.”

Deep sigh.

I was chatting with a man friend called J.J. He’s good looking, charming and a bit of a playboy. He asked me if I knew any nice ladies looking for a love package, and said he’d be delighted to be the one to deliver it. Of course I demurred – I ain’t no pimp, yo! – and related the conversation to the DH. He said, “You should ask the Friday ladies. It’s not called a playgroup for nothing!”

Har har.

I am doing some work for the NOMOTC, and read a lot of newsletters from different clubs around the country. There is one club named TV Mom. Naturally, with my exposure to the gay life, I immediately think, “Trannie Mommie would be a good name too.” Then I look more closely and see TV is for Tensonet Valley.

Oops.

A few of my favorite things, la la la

(To the tune of The Sound of Music's My favorite things)

Hatchets and mallets and sharp little pliers,
Steak knives and bread knives and Daddy’s screwdrivers,
Fourth of July rockets tied up with strings,
These are a few of a toddler’s playthings.

Deep sigh.

Those of you who have, or have had, or those who know someone with a two year old, this is nothing new. It’s the familiar tune; is baby proofed and sparsely furnished, and everything dangerous, flammable and sharp is put away, locked away or given away. But they still manage to find a way to get their little paws into the dining room buffet and select a carving knife to amuse themselves with. The concern goes from choking hazard to stabbing hazard at this age.

At this age, they are also super stubborn, as y’all already know. A dear friend’s sweet daughter, the girly girl type, who has always been determined, is now following The Two-year old’s Bill of Rights in her daily activities We met at a café for dinner one evening last week, and this little one, who is two and a half, was wearing a Halloween costume with a witch hat. Her mother could only say, “She’s two.” Ah, yes. 'nuff said. I too am doing everything I can these days to keep myself and the babies happy, without sacrificing too much of my own, or their own, rights as people. For example, today Baby B decided he didn’t want to go to school. It’s true he was a little sick, he had thrown up in the wee hours. (It was my/his own fault; his advent calendar was on a window sill, in a location where, with a chair, he could access it, and he ate all 24 pieces of chocolate that were supposed to be consumed over a month to mark the days to Christmas. According to Baby B Christmas is coming early this year…) The long and short is he didn’t want to go to school, so I had a baby to play with for the three hours I had planned on using for the gym.

Deep sigh.

They are just so normal. It’s nice to know that Baby B’s temper tantrums, consisting of him throwing his body down, kicking his legs and pounding his fists on the linoleum, howling, is classic textbook material. It’s also nice to know that Baby A’s way of saying, “NO! No, Meow Meow down, no table Meow Meow!” is just the toddler way of establishing his superiority over a “lesser” creature. It’s also good to see that everyday they add more words and songs and games to their repertoire. (Have you ever heard a two year old sing the Beatles Hey Bulldog? It’s so hilarious, especially when they start barking.)

It’s also very two to want to help Mommy and Daddy around the house, and to want to keep the place neat and organized. Apparently the two year old thing is order and familiarity. They like to have the same things in the same place all the time. This suits me down to the ground. They know how to hang up their coats and how to put their shoes on the shoe rack so as not to track dirt into the house. Now all we need to work on is teaching Baby B to put his knives away when he’s finished stabbing the cats to death, and we’re golden.

Except he uses those plastic knives from Ikea, so the cats usually don’t notice, or they get up and walk away mid stab. It must be so frustrating to be a toddler, it’s so difficult getting anything accomplished...