I think we have a problem...or two. First, there seems to be an inverse relationship between Wyatt's words and his signs. As in, the more words he gets, the more confused his signs are.
Additionally, I could've sworn you all had told me it was the terrible twos, not the terrible ones. Liars! Wyatt is Mister Shortfuse these days and also Mister Hitsalot and also Mister Tantrumthrower. I think he must be turning two on Sunday, not one.
So please combine these two traits and tell me what you get. Go ahead, do the math. I can wait.
Right. That's just it! You get a non-walking almost-toddler who gets completely frustrated at the drop of a hat and then, in his utter I-am-so-mad-that-my-hands-are-shaking-and-I'm-silent-crying fit, starts throwing out random signs like "milk" and "more" while we patiently say, "would you like some help?"
That's pretty much what ended tonight's fun with the dishwasher. It was all smiles and laughs up until he couldn't figure out how to open the soap dispenser door after he closed it. And no amount of us showing him or - GOD FORBID - putting his hand on the latch to push it was going to make it better. Instead, he would just yell, hit the soap dispenser door a couple times and then take a cheap shot at the diswasher door for good measure while instantaneously producing a crying frenzy. It was the first time (of many, I'm sure) that I had to remove myself from the situation because his absurdity was making me laugh. And laughing is not an effective means of communicating that "we don't hit."
And then, later, when I removed him from Millie's bowls for the umpteenth time tonight and told him that "those are not toys and you may not play in them", he literally threw himself down on the carpet to pitch a fit. Neat!
So if this is what one looks like, I'm not sure we're up for two.