The Wubster's Time to Shine

I've been bad. No...not naughty. Just bad.

You see, I haven't written much about The Wubster. That's bad, bordering on unforgivable.

Wubster, if you're reading this, HOLY $#!7 YOU CAN READ!!! Oh, and please forgive me.

It's not that I haven't wanted to write about the Wubster, it's more that his brother's energetic adventures overshadow his mild-mannered exploration of the world. It's hard to compete with a kid who doesn't stop moving or talking; a kid who 'reads' a book from his Lutheran preschool and comes up with, '...and this is the guy who tickled Jesus' or who says at least ten times during a recent bath night, 'Mom! My penis is broken!' when it certainly wasn't. Even I become a wallflower around Mini-Me sometimes.

That's changing, though.

Quickly.

Here are some of the Wubster's latest accomplishments.

Back in the late summer of 2009, the Wubster started babbling, spouting out more 'Mamas' than 'Papas', disappointing, I know, but his overall communication development was looking good. Then he shut up. All we'd get was grunts, whines, cries, and, of course, laughter. No words. The Wubster was content to hang back and watch everything around him without getting too involved verbally.

In January, the Wubster had heart surgery to (mostly) fix a coarctation of the aorta, so we were a bit busy with other concerns and didn't worry too much about words. Despite our fears and nervousness, the procedure went well, the Wubster did awesome, and you'd never know that anything was wrong with him. He certainly wouldn't tell you.

At home he now spends as much time as a teenage girl on his iPod phone (not an iPhone, mind you, an iPod that he pretends is a phone) constantly babbling away about such things as how fun it is to vacuum and sweep the kitchen floor (not a day goes by that he doesn't do it at least once), how he gets his brother in trouble by mimicing all of Mini-Me's don't-do-that-at-the-table-your-brother-will-do-it-oh-nevermind-there-he-goes moves and how much he loves dunking basketballs and mowing the sidewalk. He even spits out more 'Dadas' these days then the Swiss did in the early 20th Century (I'm pulling a Dennis Miller here). And where does the Wubster go when he's got a call to make? The fireplace. He stands on the bricks, chats, and every so often kisses his own reflection in the glass. My little Narcissus!

At the sitter's, the Wubster has given Mrs. Donna the silent treatment, too, clamming up immediately if she walked in the room, the way I used to convert from walking to crawling before my mom picked me up from daycare. Within the past month, though, the Wubster has been singing and chatting for all of us. If you listen closely, you'll catch the familiar notes of Twinkle Twinkle/ABCs or the pre-meal prayer routine "Open, Shut Them" that Mini-Me taught us back in August.

The Wubster is also doing a great job walking, running, climbing, and just all-around keeping up with Mini-Me.

We purchased new mattresses for the boys recently and in a fit of genius inspired by a desire to stop dueling tantrums, I laid the old ones in the living room for some tumbling. The boys spent at least an hour that first day running back and forth from hallway to mattress, squealing and leaping (in Mini-Me's case) or falling (in the Wubster's case) on the mattresses. This is our new tantrum kryptonite!

The Wubster is also mastering climbing stairs (under close, watchful, nervous eyes) which means he's having a blast at the local playgrounds because he can now reach the top of the slide on his own. And that means he can build up enough static electricity to make my hair stand up when I catch him at the bottom. Who needs the Magic House?

And, finally, as much as the Wubster has been a wallflower while his brother frolics weed-like around him, he's starting to figure out how to stand his ground and fight for his right to toys, food, and attention. The Wubster can whine with the best tantrum-thrower in the house, but more often than not, the two tow-heads get along splendidly. Their dinner table shenanigans drive me batty at times as they feed off of each other’s every move, which sends mealtime spiraling into cup-slamming, hand-pounding, squealing frenzies of laughter. They also have worked out a morning breakfast ritual that involves Mini-Me eating all but the last 1/8th of his daily Pop-Tart (you know, that last bit of crust that nobody ever wants) and handing it over to the Wubster to gleefully finish. Brothers!

So that's life with the Wubster right now. It's exciting and exhausting riding his developmental coat tails, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world!