You can call me many names, but you can’t call me a pyromaniac. In fact, is there an opposite of a pyromaniac? An “un-pyromaniac?” I hate it. My cupcake scared the living daylights outta me and I wanted nothing to do with it.
But feel free to sing to me – I’ll dance like nobody’s business. So will Coop.
So, mom put birthday shirts on us (a present from our great nanny, sanja) tonight and sang “Happy Birthday.” But I’m so confused. I keep hearing that we are “21 months adjusted age…” and I thought being two years old meant you are 24 months old. Mom tried to explain to me that come July (when I’m really supposed to be 2 years old), we no longer have to go with this “adjusted age” talk. I’ll be a plain old two year old boy. That’ll be the day!
So, I don’t know if this is my fake birthday, or if July 12 is my fake birthday… but regardless, she put birthday shirts on us, gave us a cupcake with fire on it and sang like a nut.
And I loved every minute of it. Even if she’s faking it.
Terrific Twos, here I come!
Cooper
P.S. In the interest of updating my fans, I had to get another steroid shot last night b/c I’ve decided to come down with another nasty bug… and the hospital clinic thought it important to be aggressive with my treatment so I don’t end up being admitted again. So, I’m being strong… all will be well… but what would a milestone be without a little drama?!
Since the Easter Bunny doesn’t come to our house (nice, mommy), we went to see him. I held on to mom for dear life before she turned me over to the hairy beast that goes hop-hop-hop. But once I got in the restraining arms of the bunny (he was strong even though he was PINK), I was strangely comfortable. Happy? No. But comfortable enough for a Polaroid? Yes.
Cooper – in his typical fashion – hammed it up and had a good ol’ time while I was trying to figure out how to feel about the whole thing.
Now that we met him, maybe he’ll remember to come to our house next year.
Quinn-Cotton-Tail
We’re mad.
How could our parents have deprived us of this nirvana for 23 months? I mean, really. Could someone call child protective services please? This is a disgrace.
In addition to experiencing a true beach (now that we know better, we will be protesting our cold trips to SF beaches!), this phiz-natty condo and the happiest, most relaxed parents in the world, we have also learned what it’s like to be topless in the night. You see, we have this enormous sliding door that opens into the fresh air and at night we open them all the way, so our living room IS outside! At first, we were really confused that we were “outside” while enjoying our milk and a little Baby Einstein before bed. We could constantly go topless outside, point into the night and say “oooggghhh!” to make sure our parents knew the doors were open. Now we are used to it and love it. We’re definitely not looking forward to repeating this exercise at home in 50 degree nights while running out onto our deck (AKA Bernie’s toilet).
So, we’re just going to enjoy the “now” before having to return home to San Francisco – now the second best place on earth.
Quinn
