Words.

Oh Little S.

Being two must be really, really hard.
I can’t imagine having everything LITERALLY handed to you the second you ask for it.
“Milk please.”
Of course, do you want chocolate milk?
“Read books?”
Sure babe.
“Mom, I pooped.”
Fantastic, I can’t wait to clean that up.

His newest phrase has been “we could…”
Like when we were in the car. I keep him occupied by asking him what he sees out the window.
“A house!”
Yep, we live in a house.
“With mommy, daddy, and Rae Rae.”
Yep.
“And a pet.”
No buddy, we don’t have a pet.
“A dog?”
No, we don’t have a dog.
“We could…”

“Mommy! We do fireworks?”
What?
“Fireworks in the playroom?”
You want to do fireworks…in the playroom?
“Yeah!”
Uh, no. We’re not going to do fireworks in the playroom.
“We could…”

Little S is at this weird stage where I can understand about 64% of what he’s saying and everyone else can understand about 12% of what he’s saying. Fortunately for everyone else he’s REALLY good at repeating things over and over and over again until you want to shove your head in a sink full of dirty dish water and turn on the disposal just to drown out the sound of “MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYLOOKMOMMYLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOKIDIDITIDIDITIDIDITIDIDITMOMMYYYYYYYYYLOOOOKKKKKKKK”
YES CHILD.
I see that you put the toy car on the couch.
That is the most incredible thing I’ve seen since 45 seconds ago when you put the car on the chair.
ABSOLUTELY ASTOUNDING!

He talks non stop.
The words that come out of his mouth are often poorly formulated sentences.
They don’t always mean a lot.
Occasionally he’ll just yell about Lightning McQueen when I’m changing his diaper.
Half the time, I don’t think he even knows what’s about to come out of his mouth before he speaks (probably vegetables he refuses to swallow).
But when he’s quiet…

There’s something about these very brief moments of quiet that stills me. It calms my anxiety, my overzealous attitude, and my doubts. I don’t think about the fact that he’s probably about to request to watch Wild Kratts for the 12th time. Or that he undoubtedly has sticky hands and a nose with better drainage than my bathroom sink.

“You’re my best friend. Love you so much,” he says.
That’s the one thing I could afford to hear again and again and again.

M

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