Alex The Chairman!

I put Alex's high chair in the basement last week.  Wait a minute, I don't have a basement.  I put Alex's high chair under the stairs last week, wedging that damn thing in and creating a tight, Tetris like fit between the chair, the vacuum cleaner, and one small box of shoes.  Now nothing else will fit in the basement, I mean under-the-stair-nook, and so the next baby-item Alex outgrows will simply have to be repurposed into some sort of functional piece of furniture that can just remain out in the house.  I'm looking at you, diaper changing table that will soon be my wine and potato chip rack.

My little boy, sans high chair, looking
infuriatingly adorable.

Alex outgrew the high chair a month or two ago, screeching at even the sight of it and always running full speed to one of the actual chairs whenever I announced that a meal was ready.  He had decided himself that the high chair is for babies, and he is no longer a baby.  He is a big boy just like his brother.  This is extremely annoying considering I kept Andy in that high chair until past two and a half and Alex, at twenty-two months, had me storing the high chair, in all its food caked glory, in our under-the-stair-nook.  It's difficult feeding a toddler who will not let you strap him into a seat.  He just GETS UP AND WALKS AROUND whenever he feels like it.  He drops and smears food all over the place.  Sometimes, he'll be eating a meal, and he'll just decide that he'd also like some Play-Doh- and so he'll just climb off his chair and go get some.  No, Alex.  We're eating beef right now.  Beef and Play-Doh is a huge no go.

It was weird putting the high chair away.  I felt a little verklempt. That high chair has been a part of our kitchen for the last three and a half years.  And now it's just... gone.  If you look at my kitchen, you don't immediately think "Oh, this kitchen contains within it the joy of a small baby!"  I mean, sure, you might think something close to that, such as "Oh, this kitchen contains within it the stench of a half-filled GoGurt tube some rotten little boy stuck in the heating vent!"  I mean, I guess that's close enough.  But it's not the same.  I have kids now.  I don't have a baby anymore.

Alex has transformed from my little baby straight into my little boy, with very few stops along the way.  He is my rough and tumble athlete.  He prefers his Spiderman pajamas above all others.  He likes to hold hands and walk, not necessarily to be carried.  He throws himself down the slide at the park with wild abandon, his little feet sticking up in the air as he sails down.  He scribbles with markers and brings me pretend dinners from his play kitchen.  He tries very hard to ride Andy's tricycle; he pushes elevator buttons with a sense of authority that most would agree belong to a child of a much older age, such as two.

And so now I wonder when he will climb out of his crib.  I feel like that is the next step on Alex's journey. This is why I am sending Chris to Menards after work today, to buy a whole lot of lumber as to construct much higher crib walls.  I don't think I'm emotionally prepared to put that crib away yet.  Also, there's no room for it under the stairs, so I will probably just have to stick wine and potato chips in that thing, too.

I guess that doesn't sound SO bad....