First of all, have you ever had one of those days? When it’s grey and nasty and you don’t really have a good reason to go out, but your neighbor is coming over to borrow a carrot. And it’s 10 o’clock so maybe you should consider getting out of your pajamas, so you throw on whatever. Then you realize you’re not sure when the library books are due, better safe than sorry, so you manage to get shoes on you and the kid and get out–you are smart enough to drive the 2 blocks instead of walk because it starts pouring. And since you’re already out with the car you go from the library to the bakery, and while you’re waiting on line (because omg could this guy behind the counter be any slower?!) you stop and LOOK at what you’re wearing. In public. And it looks like you got dressed in the dark. Using someone else’s closet. Because really, you had no intention of being out of your living room, but here you are.
This post is really about AM. And how fabulous his speech is these days. He is a total chatterbox, and speech therapy has moved on to things like tongue and mouth exercises, which he really does not like. When he and the clinician are done with those she tries to get him to speak in full sentences by asking direct questions and expanding on his answers, which is, in my opinion, beyond what he “should” be doing at 2 1/2. He can use full sentences, six or seven or eight words at a time. But it’s not natural to give an expansive answer to everything–I don’t, and I’m 33.
Because the rise of his speech was so rapid (really, six months ago, he had about 4 words and a bunch of animal noises), everything seems condensed, the turnover so rapid. Once he started with the words, suddenly he had hundreds. Then singing songs. Then sentences. He’s remarkably better with pronouns than Miss M, who used second person to refer to herself for months “Nurse you!”; he uses me or I to refer to himself. “Me do it, Ema! I did it!”
He did develop a couple of adorable toddlerisms, which of course I’ve forgotten already, except the one that surpassed all others. “Carry me up!” –the brilliant conflation of “Carry me!” and “Pick me up!” All the time: to see things out the window; to express fatigue, crankiness, or the need for a snuggle; to be demanding and shoehorn himself between me and just about any other human being. You could count on it a couple of times a day. “Carry me up, Ema.” “Carry me up, Abba.”
We did nothing to dissuade his use of it. But just as he stopped calling Miss M “YA!”, “carry me up” is on the wane.
Walking on the sidewalk the other day, he planted himself in my path, held out his hands, and said “Pick me up, Ema.” No. Nooooooooooo. MY BABY! Don’t do dat!
I thought maybe it was a fluke, until I was standing at the stove the next day, stirring soup. He wanted to see. “Pick me up, Ema.”
I thought it was maybe just my idiocy. But yesterday I mentioned to Taxman that “carry me up” was being supplanted with a more “correct” expression. And Taxman’s face fell. “Oh nooooo,” he wailed. So, no, not just me.
Quit growing and changing for just “two minutes!” (Another favorite expression, borrowed from me.) Please let us catch up to you.