Tuesday, November 1, 2011


 I know I've said before that the Dink is a sensitive one, but lately this aspect of his personality has really bloomed. Especially about his mommy (can't help but smile). He's getting more cuddly and like a real person in his affections (less like a busy toddler who finds things like hugs overly restraining). When he wakes up in the morning, he grabs his doggy lovey and heads straight for either my bed where he can get in and snuggle with dad, or for the couch, where he can cover himself with a blanket and lay his head on pillows while enjoying his juice and Cheerios. Of course, ten minutes later, he's usually on the floor doing the hot-dog dance with Mickey Mouse. But there's at least that initial period of morning snuggles that is so good.

The mommy thing is nearing extreme, though. It's usually inspired by seeing pairs of animals, cartoon characters, inanimate objects, you name it, where the dink can use his imagination to distinguish one as a child and one as a mommy. Upon inspiration, he uses this kind of whiny, isn't-that-so-cute, so-sweet-i-wanna-cry tone of voice and says "Aww, he's got his mommy." And he drags out the word mommy into two or three syllables. Many times, he'll hug me spontaneously and while patting my shoulder say, "I got my mommmmmmy." To which I'm supposed to respond "I've got my (insert kitty, Bob the Builder, lion...whatever I'm instructed by the dink to call him that day)". His favorite time to do this is after his bath. I use all of my body strength to pick him up out of the tub, towel ready on my chest, and wrap him up and dry him off as he hugs my neck and practically wipes a tear from his eye as he squeaks "I got my mommy!"

The other night, after a weekend full of play outside in the backyard, J discovered 2-3 splinters in the dink's hand. Naturally, this discovery took place while I was in the shower, and J couldn't wait until I got out to take a needle to the dink's poor little hand and pry them out. I was toweling off in the bedroom when the dink walks in, completely red, wet-faced and shaking, looking for a hug. J tells me that, though he was brave, the dink cried hysterically throughout the process, repeating "I want my mommy!" the whole time. So I gave him a good hug, and he got a Mickey Mouse band-aid, and was feeling better quickly, though still a little shaky. I offered to read him his bed-time books, which included a favorite, Are You My Mother? I snuggled close to the dink on the couch, with our pillows and blankets, and read slowly. When we get to the part where the baby bird starts crying and yells "I want my mother!", the dink stops me from turning the page, puts his finger on the baby bird's scrunched up face, his tears from earlier starting to pour again as he looks at me and says "He...wants...his...mommmmmmmmmy."

Oh, dink. I love you, too.        

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