This morning, Axel had his eighteen month check up. He's one and a half and a handful of days; he's closer to two than he is to one. He's no longer a baby. And, since he's no longer a baby, he's doing independent, grown up things, like engaging in a shirt-a-mano wrestling match, slithering his arm out of a sleeve and stretching his shirt over his head with such force that he topples backwards.
Sometimes, the shirt wins - or the shoes, or the pants. Sometimes, Axel is victorious. It's unpredictable, this clothes wrestling, but always good for a laugh. I know I will soon regret laughing when Axel takes off his shirt - probably when he starts getting naked in the middle of a busy playground - but the sight of a pint-sized He Man ferociously struggling against a machine washable cotton blend caught around his flushed face is hilarious.
So, how did the clothes wrestler measure up at the doctor's office?
Twenty pounds! Well, if I round up a handful of ounces....
Yes, he's still small. Food, like clothing, is sometimes Axel's friend and othertimes his bitter enemy. It's hard to pack on the pounds when you won't even take a bite of apple pie and ice cream. His love of sweet raisins is isolated; the child has not inherited his mother or grandfather's unquenchable sweet tooth.
Just over thirty inches!
He's almost half as tall as I am. Give him a few years, and he'll be throwing me over his shoulder with as much ease as he now pushes cardboard boxes across the floor.
A 19 1/4 inch head!
That would be why his shirts get stuck when he tries to yank them over his huge cranium. His weight is still under the fifth percentile; his head circumference is in the 75th. I continue to marvel at his neck's ability to hold that big noggin up.
Two dimples!
The dimples, along with indiscriminate waving and shouting of "Hi" and "Bye" to his neighbors, fellow toddlers, and tractor friends, are getting Axel far in his quest to become the youngest mayor of Denver. All that greeting has future politician - or maybe future busker - written all over it. He has also figured out that, as Scarlett O'Hara said, you catch more flies with honey. So, he grins, puts one hand behind his back, and uses the other hand to attempt to pry off the outlet covers. Or he smiles and says, "Yesss?" in his sweetest voice, grabbing hold of my hand and leading me to the back door when he wants to play outside instead of eat lunch or take a nap. Of course, when his desires are not met, it leads to inevitable rage and yelling. He is a toddler, not a smooth-talking Pinto salesman, and has not yet figured out that more than a wink and a smile is often necessary to get your way.
Add an amazing, fear-inspiring desire to throw himself off of furniture and playstructures, to dare squirrels to give him rabies, and to challenge trucks to a hand-to-tire combat, and that's Axel, at eighteen months.
