I think I’ve just stumbled upon a classic case of Be Careful What You Wish For.
It seems like it was just the other day when I was begging Nora to speak; Mama, Daddy, peas, hi there- all of it. Every coo and gurgle was rewarded with a disproportionate amount of applause and adulation. We couldn’t wait for her to verbally acknowledge us, the outdoors, her pets, and her likes and dislikes.
But we may have just unleashed a monster.
Where oh where did the interim time go between those precious first sounds to the onslaught of bossy directives? We now get marching orders on when the milk cup should be handed over at suppertime (after the first real bite, thankyouverymuch) and in what order the bath toys should be dealt with (foam letters, ducks, bubbles, crayons), not to mention the things she could really do without. Like getting into the bath itself. Or out of it, for that matter. Going inside. Not getting to watch a show. Things on high shelving. Heavy things on low shelves. Cats that refuse to let her ride them like ponies. All of these are babbled in varying levels of clarity, much like Brad Pitt’s Piker character in the film Snatch.
And it’s a rare occasion when we capitulate to these miniature dictatoresque demands. (A recent one that comes to mind is allowing a fourteen minute episode of Dinosaur Train to play so that I could continue to faceplant on the kitchen floor. Another would be okaying the chalkifying of herself to save a walk back indoors for more art supplies. 34 weeks of pregnancy is tough.)
It’s not all demands, however.
Sometimes it’s a public questioning of a terribly large person on the street. (“Mommy- thatthatthatthat…” followed up quickly by my rapid-fire comment on the color of the man’s shirt. Sure, that’s what she was about to ask me.) Other times it’s the newly- and joyfully- learned body parts and the incredibly loud inquiries as to whom has what. Did you know that Daddies have penises? Nora knows this. And since every man she meets is automatically a “Daddy,” she’ll sometimes ask me about the person standing before us. Awesome! Conversely, girls have ‘aginas, and we like to list every single person she knows who possesses one. Did I say “we?” Actually, it’s the toddler who digs this game, and it’s her somewhat flustered mother who has to remind her about Library Whispers and Privacy Words.
(Fun fact: Did you know that her lovie, Doc Bullfrog, has a ‘agina? We were shocked to hear this as well.)
That said, it’s pretty fun to hear this kid speak, if for no other reason than to finally witness the rambling train of thoughts and decisions that make up her days.
Remind me of this the next time we’re in church and she demands that her father stop reading at the lectern to come back and read to her, DAD. (Okay?)
