Out of the mouth of my babe

Kendall’s entered a new, magical phase. One where he chatters and talks in a language I can, most of the time, understand. It’s remarkable.

“Momma, read sounds,” means he wants me to read his book where I ask him what sound each picture makes.

“Momma, nigh night cookie,” means he wants me to lay my head on his stuffed Cookie Monster next to him while I try to get him to go to sleep.

Bedtime is when his language really comes alive. He’s a fantastic story teller (I’m told he gets this from his mother), and recounts the entirety  of his day to me while laying there in bed in the dark, me with my neck cocked at an awkward angle so that I can lay my head on his Cookie Monster next to him. All I have to do is ask, “what did you do today?” and his brain starts firing and his mouth starts sputtering all the events of the day.

Admittedly, he always talks about the shows he watched that day because, I’m not going to lie, there is a lot of TV watching going on in this house right now. I like that he talks like he was a part of them, though, many times saying things like, “Go go get momma fof, watch out rocks!”  That, roughly translated, means he helped Diego rescue the mommy sloth from the rocks, I think. I must add that he always punctuates his descriptions of adventures with Diego with a hearty fist thrown in the air.

He then talks about the big things, like going to the pool, and little things, like eating a pear for snack at 10 that morning.

A lot of times it takes me a minute to figure out what he’s talking about because the detail seems so minute, and I actually have forgotten by 8 at night that he saw a bug on the front porch that morning.  It’s crazy what kids will focus on, what they will take away from the bigger picture.

My favorite night time conversation, so far, has got to be the one I had with him last week after a day when I took him to Chick Fil A for lunch. While we were there, I let him go play in the enclosed play area while I sat on the other side of the glass, kept an eye on him, finished my sandwich and quickly checked my email (it was right after I launched the #helpSam fundraiser). I looked up from my phone to see what he was doing to find him and another little boy on the floor. The other boy was crying, so I walked in, asked Kendall what happened, was met with expected blank stare, then told Kendall to tell the boy he was sorry and give him a hug. I really had no idea what happened and figured they probably just ran into each other, but I also knew there was a possibility that Kendall pushed him since that seems to be something he’s trying out these days. I very sternly reminded him we don’t push, and stayed inside the play area the rest of the time we were there, subjecting myself to the awful stench of toddler shoes, rubber floors and cleaning solution.

Later that night, during our bedtime breakdown of the day, Kendall recounted the following:

“Bok bok! Yum..” (Chicken was yummy)

“Play, slide.”

“Push, baby, cry.”

I interjected, “Kendall? You pushed the baby?”

“Baby cry. No, no. No push. Sowwy.”

I was so taken aback by his honesty. I, of course, told him pushing was bad, but I also praised him for telling the truth and for telling the baby he was sorry. It was one of those weird parenting moments where I had no idea how to react, but I felt incredible pressure to act the correct way because this seemed like a really important little lesson he was learning, right in front of my very eyes.

We went back to Chick Fil A for breakfast yesterday (I told you all already that I grow my babies on CFA). The whole time on the way there he kept repeating, “No push. No, no, no. I no push.” And he didn’t. I watched him like a hawk and he played very sweetly.

While he ran around the play area, jumping and swinging and sliding, it occurred to me that he is much closer to independence and childhood than the infancy he left behind. He’s learning lessons, he’s telling stories, and before I know it I’m going to have a full fledged little kid on my hands, one who asks questions and teaches *me* things. I can’t help but wonder how big he’s going to seem when we come home with the new baby in 7 months, how much he’ll have grown and learned by then, and how much that will be magnified by the tiny, helpless newborn.

Kendall is 2 years old/ I’m 10 weeks pregnant

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