Terrible 17-almost-18-months

Forget terrible twos. We've hit them. The terrible part that is. Age is just a number, right? Vincent can take the wind out of your sail and make you exhausted in seconds flat. Where picking him up and going home used to be mildly enjoyable, it's become a headache lately. Just trying to figure out what he's throwing a fit and crying about is like trying to learn Morse Code—and I'm pretty sure that's  easier. To help, I've frantically been trying to teach him signs so we can communicate. The meltdowns seem to occur when there's a lack understanding on my part. Lately I've been resorting to carrying him around the house while he points out directions. I've never been so happy for a pointer finger. But to put it in perspective just how unreasonable he's been lately: This afternoon we went for a walk around the house. I do this so I can show him the birds flying around and so I can get a closer look at how I'd like to plan some flower beds. When we reached the back of the house, little mister wanted to go in the backdoor and threw himself back and started carrying on that we did not indeed go through that particular door. I explained to him that we couldn't go in that door because it was locked. There are just not enough toddler signs to explain that.

Coffee and watching the hummingbirds at my new feeder are what brings me peace joy these days. I know these moods of Vincent's will pass. I hope that they'll maybe get better when he's walking and can just go to wherever he wants to show me what he wants. That is if he'll ever leave my side. I'm not sure why his separation anxiety has suddenly got worse.