I am blessed/cursed with a very articulate two-year-old. Linguistically, he was a late bloomer. And I remember not that many moons ago worrying over his lack of vernacular. My visiting mother-in-law just smirked knowingly. Mother-in-laws tend to do that a lot, I've noticed. They have this inner wisdom akin to an impish grin. 'You wait,' she said. That was it. Now, of course, I know exactly what she meant.
Silence that once was golden is no more
My little motormouth revs all day long, spluttering and repeating virtually everything that comes out of my mouth, leading me to believe there's an echo in our home. He'll say things like 'cacophony', and 'omigod'. Just the other day, I was having a pop at Mr Green for getting yet another tattoo. 'How'd it go, masochist?' I asked when he came back. Incredibly, my LGO said, 'masochist'. So much for name calling. Having this little recorder in my vicinity just might make an angel of me yet. I really must train myself to keep the expletives and gossip where it belongs: in my head, lest I get myself into hot water.
Two is also the dawning, not of 'why' but of 'want'
'I want ______ [insert any random food you can think up and my toddler has uttered it. His favourites being 'mango' and 'avocado' -- foods, I hasten to add, which he has seldom even tasted but which he nonetheless remembers enough to 'want' them.] Now it's 'I want music' or 'I want TV' or 'I want puzzle' or 'I want trucks'. While it helpful and miraculous after 24 months of total guesswork to finally know what my child wants (and to be able to give him what he's after), it's also a bit of a pill. Not a minute goes by before he's had the TV/puzzle/trucks and he's onto the next 'I want'. Really, it's taxing. It's like a never ending game of musical chairs in my brain. My boy has the attention span of a bluebottle fly at the town dump.
Two nights ago, at the wee hour of one...
We had a novelty: 'I want mommy's bed'. Oh dear. Oh, oh, oh dear. Touched as I was, and bleary to the point of confusion, I heeded against all better judgement and humoured him. Into the middle my little monkey landed, kicking and prodding and pinching Mr Green and I to such an extent that the former finally trundled off to the guest room. 'Where daddy gone?' asked monkey, feigning all innocence. Even at 2 or 3 of whatever ungodly hour it was, I had to laugh. 'I want sleep' sadly isn't yet in his repertoire, at least it wasn't that night.
He's not a pervert, but...
At least he is over his summertime penchant for grabbing the crotches of random passersby. But when adult genitals are the only thing at eye level, it's not surprising perhaps that a little guy occasionally reaches out for a handle. The other day was only marginally better: there was a hunched man in the park, and my son ran over and tried to snatch the old codger's walking stick. Imagine my horror! Thinking on my toes, as any clinging-to-the-last-shreds-of-her-sanity-mom must, I quickly told LGO to shake the man's hand instead. Fortunately LGO complied and it was a cute, inter-generational moment that amply made up for my son's first attempt at petty theft. All in a day's work.