Terrible Twos

Errol will turn two tomorrow.

The other day, we went to buy Quacky Quacker (Errol) birthday presents (don’t ask, don’t tell). The only toys that seemed appropriate for Mr. Quacky were the ones designed for infants. This is a leap year, someone born on February 29th four years ago only turned one this year. Errol is a bit of an honorary leap baby, growing at about one quarter speed. With Owen's birthdays we always mark many changes from the previous birthday, but because Errol is slow cooking, you have to look much harder to see the gains of the year. But there’s nothing wrong with looking hard, especially when there’s so much to see.

Of course, it’s hard to stay sad about Errol’s recalcitrant growth when the little fellow spends half of his time smiling, and the other half laughing.

A lot of parents who have disabled kids tell us that two is the hardest birthday. It's when you have to stop fooling yourself that your kid is going to grow out of it. After two you just sort of get used to it and stop thinking about it. (We’ll see.) Also, around the time most of these kids turn two, people start asking a lot of questions about their children’s age. Public life becomes a bit of a minefield. Once their children stop looking like babies, their size and development don’t match up or make sense to a lot of puzzled shoppers and curious diners. For now, we are still mostly getting comments about how cute or handsome Errol is (and he is!), but as he gets bigger I imagine we are going to get different comments soon. We’ve been learning sign language, and that’s where a certain very special sign comes in handy.

Still, I’m looking forward to Errol’s birthday. After all, we’ll all be together, there will be pumpkin cheesecake (his favorite), and it’s bound to be better than last year, when Errol got pneumonia for his birthday. Things may not be perfect (what is?), but it’s a pretty good bet that Errol will get better gifts than pneumonia.

Owen is very excited about Errol’s birthday. Tonight, as we put the boys to sleep, Owen asked his mother, “Mama, will Errol talk?” Cary’s tears probably answered the question for him. “Why are you sad?” he asked his mama. “We just want to know what’s going on in the Little Man’s head,” she told Owen, through her tears. Errol will probably never ask the kind of question Owen asked tonight. Maybe it’s better he won’t know the answer.