Language

I just love witnessing the dink learning how to talk. It’s so funny to note the words that he takes care to say perfectly (Elmo, juice, yucky) versus the words that he haphazardly throws out in a close-but-nowhere-near-correct collection of syllables (beece[beads]/wowa[flower]/koss[cars]). I don’t know if there’s really a hierarchy in his mind, or if a speech expert would explain to me that some consonant/vowel sounds are trickier for virgin tongues than others. Either way, it’s endless entertainment. His intonation is most amusing. He uses the highest-pitched, questioning tone to say things like “no” when I ask him if he’s ready for bed, “more” when he wants not only more of something, but something for the first time, or to do something again…and of course the ever-persistent “hey, kitty, kitty” that reaches sky-high levels of pitch.

And then there’s the seemingly mindless babble that you realize is actually very serious discourse when he approaches you with his brows furrowed and a questioning look in his eyes and speaks about four sentences of totally unintelligible language, the last one always ending in a question. In the end, I 1) feel like a moron for not being able to answer him back appropriately, and 2) feel really sad that I can’t answer him back appropriately.

I do celebrate the occasional triumph when I finally understand what he’s been trying to say for while, making the connection between the random syllables and the actual object or action he’s referring to. For some, it’s like, Of course that’s what he was saying! But then there are some “words” that I’m embarrassed to even admit that I understand because they are so far off-base…

Dink language:
Ah-poo=open (cute)
Beyops=blocks (weird, but reasonable)
Gersh=fish (really funny to hear him say, but still an honest mistake)
Lum-lum=water (extremely embarrassing to admit to his daycare providers and even strangers)

And then there are those words that he refuses to say, preferring instead to use hand signals and sounds—the way he first learned them. So when we look on the “E” page of his alphabet book, and I point to “egg” and “envelope”, the dink attempts to say each, but when we get to “elephant,” he simply raises his right arm (trunk) in the air, and makes a high-pitched “brrrr” sound with his lips, because he learned when he was 12 months old that that’s what noise elephants make.

Lately, my favorite thing to hear him say is “hey” first thing in the morning, when I open his bedroom door, and he’s sitting up in his crib in the dark, holding Elmo and Lovey or both, and even if he was in mid-scream trying to get me to hurry to his room, he immediately changes gears, switches his voice to a soft, southern, sing-song manner, and tells me “hey” just like I would say to J when he walks in from work in the evening. But I can’t complain about that one—it’s a really nice way to start the day.

Elmo

A few weeks ago, the dink surprised us all by uttering his first sentence: I want Elmo. The level of surprise experienced by me and J, and then later by his maman and papa who heard it too, was not at his mastery over the English language, but by the subject matter that has spurred him, in recent weeks, to not only achieve a higher level of communication, but to throw temper tantrums at the television, to squeal and laugh almost uncontrollably with delight, and to snuggle, snuggle, snuggle.

By now, the dink’s relationship with Elmo is almost unnatural. There are so many things about it that I don’t understand—like how it began, where I’ve gone wrong in accidentally encouraging it, and if Elmo will one day demand a seat at the dinner table or a prominent location in family Christmas photos. What is it that you see in him, son?

Actually, I blame the daycare—the same people that introduced him to cheese puffs and goldfish. Apparently, they show Elmo to the kids during their once-a-month movie day. Seemingly harmless enough. But somehow that red, furry creepy thing took up permanent residence in the dink’s brain, and one day, he came home from daycare, made the connection that the half-animal, half-baby creature in a couple of his books was the same very Elmo that he so enjoyed once a month on tv…and such began the affair. Weeks later, his teachers were mentioning to me D’s strong affection for Elmo, and I exacerbated the situation by buying him a set of Elmo dvds one weekend when I was feeling guilty for dropping him off at my parents’ house for the night…and then of course the movies were complemented by a small stuffed Elmo doll that now goes outside, in the car, around the house, and more importantly, to sleep by the dink’s side…so I guess I’m partly to blame. But this is the first time that he’s ever been emotionally attached to any object (except my breasts), and I just never expected this. Not that I’d dare try to end it now. I guess I’ll just keep telling Elmo night-night, try to make sure the dink doesn’t start talking about himself in the third person (“Elmo loves his goldfish!”), and hope that by the time we all memorize those 3 dvds, my love for Elmo, like the dink’s, has blossomed in ways I never thought possible…

Order

I think all parents must go through the ritual of examining their children every few months or so and naming the different emerging characteristics that are derived from one parent or the other. It starts at birth, when that new face and body is placed in front of you, fresh from communion with your organs, and you’re desperate to know it on every single level like you’re desperate to be reassured that you will never stop knowing it for the rest of your life. With the dink, it was pretty clear from the get-go that he represented a “good mixture of the two of us,” but I was dead convinced that his feet and toes were the exact replica of his daddy’s. J thought that his eyes were mine, even though the eyes are the last thing you’re supposed to pass judgement on since they change over the first few months, like puppies. But neither of would claim his inverted nipples.

Lately, as the dink’s unique personality emerges more and more, the traits that he’s stolen from others are becoming more apparent and more undeniable. From J—he likes to be the center of attention, to make people laugh, and to snuggle, snuggle, snuggle. With dish towels, dirty laundry, any stuffed animal, maybe even books—he holds it up in the crook of his neck, then hits the floor to roll around all over it and sometimes pretend to go night-night with it. I actually caught him snuggling my mom’s dirty rubber boots once.

And from me—the latest is my uncontrollable sense of order. I don’t even know how a kid his age can have such definite ideas about the ways things should be, but he will certainly let you know when they disturb his sensibilities. Playing with blocks is very telling. When J builds a Mega Bloks mountain, and he places one block in a direction that’s counterintuitive to the way you’d think it would face (i.e. it’s sticking out to the side when it should be lined up forward), the dink will take it off the pile and turn it the “right” way. J thinks it’s so funny that he’ll do it 3-4 times in a row, but the dink never tires of righting his daddy’s wrongs. And when it’s time to pick up the blocks—don’t dare try to throw two interlocked blocks in the bucket. Oh no, every single block must be disengaged and thrown in the bucket singly.

One of the most amusing displays of order the dink had recently involved all of his pots and pans friends in the kitchen. One by one, he carried every single skillet, pot, and lid from the lower kitchen cabinet into my bedroom. After 20 minutes or so of play, I told him to bring them all back to the kitchen, and I watched from the bedroom as he struggled down the hall carrying every single piece one by one back to where they belong. When he was all done, we cheered that they were all gone, and he walked me to the kitchen to show me his proud work: every single pot was lined up in a perfect line across the kitchen floor. All pots had their appropriate lid on top, and I dare say that the handles were even pointing in the same direction. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cheer.

It was like one of those moments shortly after the baby’s birth, when everyone in the room has agreed that the heritage of his nose or his lips or his ears are undeniable, and you look at the child and you think: Yes, you are truly mine.

18 months

I can't believe it, but the dink is already 18 months old. I took him in to the doctor for his well visit, and while the doctor was asking me all of his milestone questions like Does he know five of his body parts? and Does he mimic things that you do?, I was marveling that this time a year ago, we were concerned with "Does he still spit up a lot?" and "Can he crawl?"

According to the doctor, the dink should be starting to speak in sentences now, like "Mommy go." I nodded along politely as the doctor explained that I am 100% responsible for the way he learns to talk, and then carefully mentioned that, although the dink does say about 30-40 words, he has never spoken in such complex language as "Mommy go." What I didn't have the heart to tell the doctor is that sometimes, actually often, he still refers to me as "Da" instead of "mommy." Or maybe I just didn't want to admit it out loud--that my son has more interest in properly naming his blocks, his pants, his shoes and socks, and his juice more than he cares to learn his mother's name.

But the good news is that when he does learn a new word these days, he's not afraid to say it over and over again to make sure he commits it to memory. This evening, while we watched his bubble bath water go down the drain, he pointed to the remaining bubbles in the tub with his two little pointer fingers and said "bye-bye bubbles" no less than 45 times in a row.

Probably the dink doesn't really have a need to use sentences to communicate just yet, since I usually interpret what he wants before he has a chance to speak up. But when the kid is reaching up to the doorknob and trying to turn it with all his might, and he looks back at me and says "uh, uh"...who has time to wait for him to explain that he wants me to open the door for him? We don't have that kind of time in our life. But I guess that's probably the wrong approach. At least it's a family approach, though, shared by the dink even (photo above). Why sit around trying to explain to someone at the crawfish boil that you would please like more Doritos when you can just march on over there and get them for your darn self?

Learning

I can hardly keep up with the dink lately. Every day he demonstrates to me something that he knows that I am 90% confident I did not teach him. I don't know if that means that I am slacking as a parent in my daily instructionals ("you have peas, tomatoes, rice, and chicken for dinner")...or if I'm really just as oblivious as my loving husband always says I am to what's going on around me...

Although I try to refrain from gagging or saying "yucky" every time I change a poopy diaper, I guess I've said poo-poo at just the right time enough for the dink to finally make the connection. Although he doesn't need to announce when he's pooping because it's written all over the awkward grimace on his face, he now grabs the front of his diaper and says "pah-poo" with great seriousness. And the other day, J told me that he had to get down on all fours to retrieve something that the dink had thrown under the bed, and when his butt was up in the air, the dink came over and patted his daddy's lower back and said "night-night."

There are still some things he does that must be the result of original thinking because I know that I would never, ever teach my son to do them. Like shoving handfuls of catfood in his mouth when he sees me coming at him to take it away, or spending large chunks of time in the bathtub trying to carefully place a Mardi Gras cup over all of his genitalia. Or laughing hysterically every time I say the word "rough." I hope he never stops showing me all of the things he's learned each day.

Stinker

To J and I, the dink is a lively, bright, silly, super-busy little boy who loves to dance, scream, and smile. But somehow, in the presence of others, he becomes an emotion-less, unresponsive toddler with incredible levels of shyness that prevent him from saying hello or goodbye, interacting with other humans, and really doing much else than burying his head on my shoulder or looking off blankly into the distance. It’s purported that when J or I leave the dink with said “others” that he returns to the land of the living and drops the act. When picking the dink up from daycare the other day, I stopped and chatted with one of his “old” teachers, and the whole time D laid his head on my chest and looked down or to the side…anywhere but at the teacher’s face. She tried to talk to him, and he smushed his whole head into my armpit. I told her that I couldn’t believe he was acting so shy, and she said “That’s okay, he gave me a hug and a kiss this morning.” Stinker!

I guess we all do this to an extent—act differently with our parents than we do with others. But it’s hard to believe that the dink has caught on to that already. Is he putting on a show to protect my feelings? Is he afraid I’ll get upset if he shows affection for other female figures in his life? Or is he really just painfully shy? I don’t buy that he is. The kid stands at the end of the driveway in the afternoons and waves and yells “hi” to all of the kids walking home from the bus. My mom says that my sister and I were similar as children. Granny used to take us around town to the makeup store and country club, trying to show off her smart grandkids, and supposedly all we would do was stare dumbly at the floor are barely even say hello. We may have even picked our noses. I think at one point Granny threatened to stop taking us anywhere if we insisted on acting like idiots. So I guess it runs in the family. I hope one day the dink switches gears and takes after his daddy's love for showing off and being in the center of attention. Can genetics work like that?

Events

The poor dink is being introduced to what promises to be a ritual performed thousands of times over in the next ten years or so: the slathering of sunscreen over his cheeks, forehead, ear lobes, chest, and his crown of his head, where all of his blond hairs swirls out in a fashion that’s remarkably similar to his dad, his Pop, and even his little cousin.

Over the weekend, we went to the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival and our church’s crawfish cooking competition. The dink thoroughly enjoyed his time spent outdoors, although the highlight for him, I think, was avidly watching children bounce up and down through the window of a Space Walk (a.k.a. The Bouncy Castle). He was totally mesmerized by the whole scenario (who isn’t?), and quite taken by a charming 3-year-old little girl who quit bouncing now and then to talk to J and the dink through the window. She told J “I like your baby” and “I know how babies are born.” We’ll probably limit the dink’s time with her at the next church function.

This time of year, when spring is in full force and festivals and summer vacations and birthday parties are lining up quickly, it’s easy to live from event to event, getting through the in-between days of regularity and routine by looking forward to the next thing. But ever since the dink turned one, and I looked at him one day squatting to play in that butt-poised-ever-so-slightly-above-the-floor position that only toddlers can tolerate, and I realized that he is not my little baby anymore, already…I can’t bring myself to look forward to the next thing. I’m afraid that if I focus on what’s coming up, even as soon as next week, that I’ll somehow make these lingering days of baby cheeks and bedtime rocking pass even more quickly than they already do.

Kisser

Declan is quite the kisser. There is nothing sweeter than when I ask for a hug and a kiss, and he comes running from across the room, arms wide open, with a giddy grin on his face, cheeks bouncing with each step and all. I usually squat on the ground to receive him, and then we stand up for the kiss. After months, the child has finally learned how to pucker his lips when leaning in for one, instead of coming at you with a wet mouth wide open. And lately, he’s picked up the “I’m about to kiss you”—mmmmmWA! The best is when the kiss is his idea. Sometimes, when I’m holding him, he’ll surprise me suddenly by turning his lips up and mmmm-ing. Love it. I caught him giving his Papa three unsolicited kisses in a row over the weekend, which was just too sweet to even describe. And the latest event in the dink’s kissing evolution is the three-way family kiss that makes him laugh and squeal with delight. J holds him, starts “mmm-ing,” which makes dink lean down to kiss me, and then J jumps in to meet our lips at the last minute. It’s the ritual family kiss, and let me tell you, you can’t have just one of those… If you forward to the second half of this video, there’s some footage of the dink giving night-night kisses to his daddy and his cousins after staying up too late at Maman and Papa’s.

Easter

In a perfect dichotomy, my sister had her baby on Good Friday. We don’t have any goofy nicknames for her yet, so I’ll just call her E. She weighed 7 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 20 inches long. We spent Friday morning at the hospital, taking turns visiting M and the baby. She has really long feet and a very small face. Her nose is quite distinguished, however (for her age), and I still haven’t really seen her eyes open yet. My favorite part of the whole day was when my mom was holding E, doing her classic rocking/bouncing combination move, and S (proud big brother #1) ran to her side, concerned, and said “Maman! Don’t rock her too hard!”

The dink, however, was not so receptive to the new little one. In M's room, J held the dink on his lap while I held little E across the room. And when I say the dink made the saddest, pouty face you could ever imagine—it actually might be sadder than you can imagine. He just looked at me, with those big blue eyes so round, his eyebrows raised, and the perfect frown with his bottom lip stuck out so far. He was looking at me like I had just slapped him or told him that I didn’t want to be his mommy anymore. He kept burying his head in J’s chest, and after a few minutes, started crying softly. It was so sad. J and I have been trying to get pregnant with #2 for what seems like eternity, and one friend recently told me that maybe the reason it hasn’t happened yet is that God knows that the dink needs undivided attention from J and I for just a little longer. I thought that was a nice way of looking at it. And if that scene was any indication, the dink may not be ready for quite a while…