Hannah's Memoir: 22 months

Yo! It's Hannah again, filling you in on my ever-so fascinating existence. It's been a while, so if you'd like to recap, you can click HERE and see the entire list of my posts.

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From what I gather, the cat is out of the bag and ya'll know that I have a baby brother in the works. If you missed my reaction to the news {and the official announcement}, you can click HERE. Mom has tried many times to explain that she has a baby in her belly, but I'm not sure I believe her. I mean, come on. A baby? Everybody knows that a stork brings those to the front door. I'm no fool!

. . .

I have been working really hard on expanding my vocabulary lately. Some of my new words are:
     
       "Sock" {pronounced as "saw"}
       "Shoe"
       "Nice" {which comes out sounding a lot like "niii"}
       "Cheese"
       "Why"
       "Milk" {usually pronounced as "mill"}
       "BOO!"
       "One"
       "Two"
       "Nanna" {which is, of course, Hannah}
       "Nose" {which, regrettably, sounds like "no"}
       "Eye"
       "Love you" {"wuv you" is close enough for now, I should think}
        
I try new words nearly every day, but I vehemently refuse to attempt the word "please". Don't ask me why. I just won't do it. I am, however, very fluent in babble. I can talk your ear off as long as you don't care about understanding anything.

I also know where my eyes, nose, ears, mouth, hair, toes, and belly are. Just ask me. I shall show you.

. . . 

Dad is currently trying to teach me to "face palm" and I'm getting quite good at it. I even know when to face palm without any help. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that my parents provide me with ample opportunity to practice. They are so silly!

. . . 

I am obsessed {seriously, obsessed} with a nifty little thing called "Zoodles" that came installed on my mom's new phone. It has a billion little video clips for me to watch while mom is trying to cook dinner, get dressed, or regain a remnant of sanity. I can hear the tell-tale music when she opens the app from about 2 miles away and I come running every time. I love it! In fact, I'm becoming quite the professional couch potato.

See what I mean?






. . .

I've recently taken it upon myself to help mom out with the housework by:
       --stealing the broom out of the closet and swinging it around {in my defense, the thing is twice as big as me so I really am trying to sweep. . . it just gets away from me and bangs into the wall a lot}
   
      -- picking up nearly imperceptible pieces of paper or crumbs from the floor and throwing them in the trash. Mom always gets so excited when she asks me to throw something away and I obediently pick it up and toss it in the trash. She says something like "It's so nice not to have to bend over". . . whatever that means.

      -- putting things back where they belong. For example, mom makes sure we always put away our toys and books before nap time or before we go to the store. I thought it was pretty dumb at first, but now I'm in the groove and do it without complaint. Sometimes I still need a reminder as to exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, but then I'm unstoppable! I even know exactly where certain things go without being reminded. I'm a very, very particular child. . . Some call it OCD. I call it being thorough.

For example, I decided to be silly and relocate all of my toys into a dresser drawer. Mom caught wind of it, however, and kindly asked that I put my toys back. That's all the prompting I needed and I immediately took off to transport those things back to their rightful dwelling. 






I'm turning into quite the little helper! I can't wait for Baby Brother to get here so I can help bring fresh diapers and binkies and blankies and clothes and all sorts of fun things.

. . . .

Mom and Dad have started to crack down on the whole "discipline" thing. They give me three clear warnings to stop what I'm doing and if I don't, I go to my room for a couple minutes. It's pretty much awful. Granted, I've graduated from doing "The Wailing Flop of Absolute Despair" the entire time to only crying for about 30 seconds and then seeing what toys I can unearth from under my crib or the bottom of my toy basket.

My most recent trip to my room was thanks to this adventure:



Oh dang. I guess she was serious when she told me to stop playing by the toilet.

. . . .

I have so many teeth now, Ma and Pa gave up counting them. However, I still absolutely hate having my teeth brushed. It's a two-man job to get me to open my mouth, and even then I usually manage to suck all the toothpaste off the toothbrush after the first swipe. I dread the day that Mom actually remembers to set up my first dentist appointment. My reaction will probably end up being a viral video. Keep your eyes peeled, friends.

. . .

I've begun carrying at least one of my blankets around the house, much to Mother's chagrin. She says it wouldn't be so bad if I folded it up neatly and placed it on the couch when I was finished. Personally, I don't see the problem in leaving it sprawled out in the middle of a high-traffic area.

. . .

I try to put on my favorite boots any chance I get but it's really tricky to get my foot in all the way. It's the thought that counts anyway, right? If someone places them on the wrong shelf and I can't reach them, it's GAME. OVER. and I will cry hysterically until they rectify the situation. I'm attached, okay? Leave me alone.

And speaking of boots, I love going for walks. I'm a particular fan of running my hand through our neighbor's fluffy bush-- it tickles!

. . .

One of my newest talents is crossing my ankles every chance I get. It's pretty awesome.



. . .

I had my first experience running through the sprinklers this past August. What a trip THAT was! Thank goodness I had Mom, Dad and Zoe there to keep me from dying. :)

 

. . .

I'm freakishly good at balancing things on my head. I know you're jealous.



. . 

For months now I've only had my binkie when I'm asleep, but as of October 3rd, I've had my binkie taken away completely. It may have something to do with the fact that I chewed the poor thing to pieces, but what I really think is that my parents hate me and want me to suffer indefinitely. That must be it.

. . . . .

I'm sorry this was sorta an "all over the place" post. . . but I'm kind of an "all over the place" kid. So it works out in the end.

Well, I'm off to watch some Elmo.

Peace out.