I'm working on a project. Something manly and intense and all that sort of stuff you'd expect from me. I'm in the process of screwing in a screw, and Wyatt comes up with his own screwdriver (I have no idea where he got it), grabs a screw and tries to help. I need him gone. I need to focus on the construction project in front of me. Of course, Cara is nowhere to be found. Typical.
"Wyatt, can you turn on that light?" (Don't ask why it wasn't on already!)
I've never given him a direction like this. He runs to the light and tries to flick it on, but can't reach it.
"Go grab your boxes!"
He nods and scampers off. When he runs, he only really swings one arm at a time, and is very unbalanced. Just like his dad. He returns with two boxes small cardboard boxes. He looks at me, waiting for instruction.
"Stand on your boxes!"
He stands on one, but can't reach the light switch.
"Put one box on top of the other!"
He shuffles them around in a circle and tries again. Close enough.
|Part of his new comprehension is expressed through scratching horror marks on chalk doors.|
Do you know what this means?! It means Wyatt can understand what I am saying. I have entered a new realm where I can do more than just tell him what not to do - don't touch that, don't eat that, don't make your uncle feel uncomfortable, don't poop ever again - and can start telling him more things that he can do! Open that door. Bring me my phone. Shut that refrigerator door. Go pick out clothes for me to wear to work.
I am so excited about this new stage of my life. It's almost as good as that stage I entered back when I finally figured out how sandals work.
My mood: super pumped
Wyatt's mood: starting to carry his weight around this place
Listening to: Kings of Leon