It has just occurred to me that I have not written much about Herr Meow lately.
This could be because in between
* changing him (and wrestling through every diaper change)
* dressing him (and wrestling through every clothes change)
* undressing him (and watch him help me along with delight until he realizes that undressing, unless related to a bath and sweet freedom, brings a new set of clothes to bind and torture)
* feeding him (wherein the definition of "picky" is born over and over and over again)
* and playing with him (where, if we’re not kicking "Baah" or we’re not hugging "gah-tah" with quasi-religious fervor we’re not doing it quite right)
… I barely have time to breathe. Add to the list the everyday monotony of household chores (hahahaha!) and a few projects filled with delusional grandeur ("maybe I can give that flourless chocolate cake a go today!"), and I cringe to think that people do this with more than one child.
Herr Meow can say a few words pretty clearly, in addition to the standard "mama" and "dada" (or "papa"). His favorite one by far and hands down is "HOLA!" It’s like the "my precious" of vocabulary words.
He can "HOLA!" up and down the stairs, with anything faintly resembling a phone stuck to his ear like a miniature used car salesman– although he reserves "byebye" for things he no longer wants and gravity checks. He loves "Baahs" (balls) and "Bawoos" (balloons) and "gah-tahs" (cats) and knows that some "gah-tahs" mysteriously do not meow but "Ooof! Ooof!" (woof) instead. He also knows "ishie" (fish) and "uckie" (duck) and "pah-pah" (bird) and is in the process of knowing how to ask for "echay" (milk). He asks "sat?" or "dat" (what’s that?) and "dis?" (what’s this?) and sometimes politely says "ee-oo-goh" (here you go)– a phrase he’s learned from his good buddy, Yoga Baby. Sometimes he’s even said something that sounds like "ekoo" or alternately "ashash" (thank you, in either language just as sweet) and is a Balm of Gilead for what ails me whenever I think I hear it.
He can also open most drawers and can reach things high up on many tables. He can help unload the dishwasher and he can also tear up the phonebook. He can be bewitchingly charming, peeking out and making friends with the world from his happy perch in our new AP tool, the EllaRoo, (because asymmetrical slings don’t mix with 23 lbs. of baby); and he can be a wicked little monkey when he doesn’t quite get his way.
I was just whining to my mom and to a good friend about my newest adventure in motherhood.
Rev. Mom: "You were just like that: an insufferably curious little monkey child."
Good friend: "Arg, welcome to the second half of toddlerhood."
When I asked both when it would be over, the answer was the same:
"It never really goes away."
A toast to all moms who battle their eternal toddlers.
And dreams of Flowerbomb to us all.