He can give the most wonderful hugs, his little arms stretch around my neck and he squeezes as hard as he can. When he wants to give a kiss, he puckers like a little fish with his cheeks sunk in. He'll grab my hand and put it on his back when he wants me to pat him and he'll hold onto my legs when he isn't too sure of the chickens outside. On the other hand, when he wants something and knows he isn't going to get it, he screams and falls to the floor "dead", his version of a tantrum (I much prefer this over one of those screaming and hitting the floor tantrums). As soon as I put him down at the store, he takes off like a rocket and I must drop what I am doing to chase him down. I've tried to stay and see if he'll come back, but he does not, and my heart cannot take the stress of where he would end up if I didn't get him. He won't stay in the cart and I end up having to carry him because it's far easier to do that than drag him by his hand, since he decides he doesn't want to stay close and if he cannot run, he lets himself get as heavy as a sack of potatoes and I must drag him. I really like going to the grocery store when I can leave Peter at home with Andrew.
He will scamper up the cars whenever he gets the chance, proud as can be when he gets to the top and stands, and I'm pretty sure if he had a flag, it would be staked to the roof of the van! I am grateful for the carseat, it is the one place I know he cannot escape and I can let out a breath of relief when he is buckled in and safe. The kid cart at Target is wonderful, since he cannot get out of that one, but he certainly knows how to express his displeasure at being stuck in there while his sisters get to walk free. I get a lot of sympathy looks from other customers when he screams and kicks in protest and I'm sure more than a few wonder what kind of mother am I that he screams so. If he doesn't calm down in a reasonable amount of time, I carry him, but usually, he quiets and is content to sit and watch the scenery go by.
He has broken the most dishes of all the kids, spilled the most liquids, gets into the biggest messes and then when scolded, gets the saddest little blue eyes, and he signs 'sorry' and gives a hug. Then he turns around and scampers off. I can relax a little bit when we are at home, I know which room he can usually be found in and I am not so uptight or the house is not so spotless than I don't mind when he gets into some things-- like when he gets into the pots and pans or when he dumps the toy box onto the floor. When we go to someone else's house, I can never fully relax, always keeping an eye on him: where'd he go? what is he getting into?
He is on the verge of talking, he can say a few words quite clearly-- book, cat, dog, egg, off, on, eat, shoe. Frankly, I can't wait for him to talk. He may end up being a chatterbox and that's just fine with me! It would be better than the screech of happiness or the exact same screech for anger, the same screech for frustration and the screech for delight. It especially grates on me when we are in the car and he is seated right behind my hearing aid and it amplifies his screeching and I think the girls are teasing him making him screech with anger, but when I look back, he's laughing. I don't turn off my hearing aid, though I am tempted, because I cannot bear to think there was an emergency and I purposely ignored it. Yes, talking would most definitely be better than the screeching.
Peter is a character, one that surprises me and delights me and drives me nutty. He gives me chase when he has something he isn't supposed to have, like a knife or the printer ink, takes a bite from an apple, puts it back and takes a bite from another apple until at least 10 apples have little bites taken from them. When I unlock the pantry, the first thing he points to is the candy jar, when I unlock the utility closet, the first thing he grabs is the big broom and off he goes, until he gets caught in the doorway by the handle of the broom, just like one of those old Tom & Jerry cartoons.
I never imagined I would have a son, and now that I have him, I love him dearly, but excuse me while I go and rescue Percy the kitten from his loving but choking arms as if he is saying: "I wanna hug 'im and squeeze 'im and eat 'im all up!" I know what you mean kid, I want to do the same thing to you: I wanna hug ya and squeeze ya and eat ya all up!