Yes, I speak another language: it's called toddler

I write to you tonight amid the sounds of crashing waves. No, my friends, I do not write to you from some exotic beach, but instead am curled up on our sofa next to the humming of our baby monitor, listing to the soothing sound of our daughter's sound machine filter through our living room. Listing, of course, while praying that she stays asleep.

But on to the subject at hand.

There are some days I feel like I deserve a medal for interpreting what it is that my two year old is trying to tell me. And I sure as hell better figure it out quick, because he has got no patience for people that don't speak his language. He stands there, looking at me, demanding my attention (demanding, of course, by stomping up to me, tilting his head so we make eye contact and yelling, "MaMAAAAA!" until I look at him), repeating whatever new foreign word of the day he has chosen. If you take too long guessing, you can actually see him lose his patience as he sighs at me or begins to use hand gestures to try to explain himself (like this weekend at the hotel where he wanted to push the elevator button. "BUH. BUH. ME" while frantically poking at the wall with his index finger. I get the boy's frustration...how could you not understand something so obvious BD?). Once you get it right he gives you a nod of the head and a little laugh, like 'good job, idiot, you finally got it.' But among everyone, I am by far the person that understands him the best. Many a time of I have received a call from my mom while he's with her, saying, "what the heck is he saying?" and putting him on the line. Because the kid doesn't give up, I'll give him that much. He will just keep saying the word over and over again until you have finally gotten it correct. And now, as a newly added twist to his sick little game of 'let's see how much power I have over mommy and daddy', we can no longer simply repeat the word back to him, we must use it in a sentence.

BD has a hard time understanding him sometimes, too. I'll listen to the two of them out in the living rooms on the days I get to "sleep in" (I use quotes, b/c how much sleep can a person really get with a toddler yelling in the next room?)

"Daw"
"Dog?"
"Daw"
"Dog."
"Daw"
"Dog."
"DAW."
"DOG."
"DAAAAW!"
"DOOOOG!"
"DOOR! HE IS SAYING DOOR!" (I'm telling you, mommy just wants a little sleep here)

Poor BD, it's not his fault really. I spend all day with the little monster trying to descramble his coded messages. Hanging out with the little guy for only a few minutes, you've got no chance.

Of course, there are the times that he uses this language to my amusement, like the time BD got up to use the restroom at a local restaurant, and when he returned to our table our son starting yelling "DADDY POOP! DADDY POOP!". Gotta love those sentences he's putting together. The beauty of it is, BD trying to ignore what he was saying, hoping it would go away, only to have the little man start screaming it louder and louder. People must love sitting next to us at restaurants.

And then there are the times that WE know what our son is saying, but to the world it's a different story. Like the time he walked up to a 'larger' women waiting in line at the store and starting pointing and, oh yes, snorting. I watch it unfold in front of me in horror, only to realize the women is holding a piggy bank. Ahhhh yes, pig. I quickly say out loud, "Oh yes, that women has a piggy, huh?". Or my personal favorite. "Floor." such a safe word, seemingly. Unless your son pronounces his f's as h's. Go ahead, say it out loud with me. Hoor. Or, as you might now it better, Whore. As in when we are at play areas with OTHER parents, he yells "Jump on the Whore!" (cue our "oh yes, jump on the Floor!" with a smile towards the other parents. I promise folks, he has not learned that dirty word from us. Just the S word...still working on the one.) Or when he pats his baby sister, who is laying on the ground on her belly, "baby, whore." Oh yes, dear son of mine. Baby is on the floor.


Things that I am grateful for today: when I heard that bang from the dining room and the gasp from BD? just some spilled water, not a dropped baby like it sounded like. silence on our walk to the park today. It's Friday!