Once upon a time, Sam was dependent upon me for his every need. I know this because I can read back into my journal archives to see the proof, not because of any sign he's currently giving me. No, at the moment, he seems to want nothing more than to be in charge of every aspect of his own life, without any assistance at all.

I know, I know; it's a universal toddler trait. Still, it takes me by surprise to see just how determined he is to be grown up. I have to keep reminding myself that he's only one year old, since his personal belief that he's at least seven is pretty darn convincing after a while. In fact, he consistently fools Eric, which gets frustrating for them both when Sam lapses into more typical one-year-old behavior and hurls himself to the floor in tears.

But much of the time, it's a pretty solid act. Yesterday we went to the grocery store, and upon seeing the other kids walking about pushing the miniature shopping carts, Sam immediately decided that this was the only way to shop. Never mind that he's still small enough that the push bar is almost a foot above his head; never mind that he couldn't see a darn thing while pushing. He was a big boy, darn it all, and he was not going to be dissuaded.

I didn't try too hard to change his mind, in any case. We weren't in any particular hurry, so I folded my arms across my chest and followed him into the store, biting my lip to keep from trying to direct him.

As was predictable, Sam was chaos on wheels, trying to go in and out of checkout lines and having trouble not running into shelves. I did my best to let him figure out his own problems, but whenever I was forced to guide him a little, it sent him into fits of outrage. The same was true if I tried to prevent him from running off and abandoning the cart altogether; he didn't want me to push it myself, but he didn't want to be pressured into keeping it with him.

Eventually, we made our way to a point where he spotted the candy aisle. Suddenly he was quite eager to load the cart with all sorts of goodies. For every bag I removed from the cart, he threw in three more behind my back. Candy corn! Lollipops! Caramels! He was insatiable, and I'm pretty sure he didn't even know what half the bags that he wanted contained. Of course, it ended with him bucking and struggling angrily in my arms as I quickly pushed our cart away from the land of temptation.

Sam believes firmly that the kitchen is his domain; if he isn't allowed to oversee the preparation of meals, he is quick to call down thunder upon the offending adult. He is occasionally willing to be placated with spare bowls, pots, and utensils, but those occasions are becoming more and more rare. He knows that stirring an empty bowl, or even one full of water, isn't the same as standing in front of a stove.

Sam likes baths, and he has recently acquired the ability to climb in and out of the bathtub all by himself. When I enter the bathroom first thing in the morning, he is close on my heels, pulling aside the shower curtain and thrusting his hand into the tub to check for falling water. One of these days, he's going to figure out how to turn on the faucet, so I need to see about whether or not that's childproofable; currently, he's not allowed in the bathroom without one of us (which aggravates him to no end).

Sam likes to go for walks, but only in the direction of his choosing. This frequently involves trying to enter other people's yards and climb on their lawn furniture. It always involves pursuing any attractive sticks or rocks. Should a dog bark in our vicinity, God help us all.

Sam knows the word "No." He also knows how to vehemently shake his head. While he also knows "Yes" and how to nod, those expressions don't enchant him nearly as much as the others. I offer him food, and he shakes his head. If I take it away, though, he protests loudly. "No," I realize, simply means, "I want to control this part of my environment." Whether or not he wants an object, he wants control more. Knowing that intellectually doesn't make living with it any easier for me.

I have a toddler. He's the light of my life, but he's going to drive me insane.

As I mentioned in the weblog the other day, my body's falling to pieces. Two mornings ago, I did something to my neck. Never mind that I was standing perfectly still, not even bent over toward the floor, when the stabbing pain struck me; I'm sure that it was somehow my fault. It kept me incapacitated for most of the day, lying on the sofa with a heating pad while Young One beat at my legs and whined ("Get up, Mama, get up! Don't be a wuss!"). Then later than night, I awoke to the worst nausea of my life, which kept me up and miserable for half an hour until pink bismuth and my old pregnancy Sea Bands allowed me to sleep again.

I feel much better today, though the remnants of neck pain are still with me. I'd probably be feeling much better if I truly had the chance to rest, but what are the odds of that? Toddlers are needy, even when they don't admit it themselves.

And, speaking of needy, if my ears don't deceive me, his nap's over. Nuts.