Bobby, my oldest, is learning to talk. He's had a handful of words for a few months now, including his favorite - "uh oh" - and my favorite - "cheers" - which he loves to do with his cup when we all sit down to eat.
In the last few weeks the number of words he says has grown exponentially. I am constantly surprised as he points out moons and monkeys in the books we read and clearly asks the checker at the grocery store for a balloon. It's been a fun new season and it's hard not to feel all swollen-up with pride.
It's also been a super frustrating season. Because now that Bobby knows he can get a lot of what he wants by smiling and saying "pwweeese", when we can't figure out what he wants, he becomes *really* upset. Head in hands, shoulders drooped, loud crying. It isn't pretty. Or easy to watch.
Last night at dinner Bobby wanted something. He was pointing and eagerly babble-talking in his booster seat.
I pointed to the spaghetti.
No. He shook his head.
I offered him some mozzarella cheese, which he took and then spit out.
A tomato slice?
No. He started to whine. I feel my blood pressure increase.
No. More whining. LOUDER whining.
He started pointing in Chris's direction at which point Chris offered his wine glass and I scolded Chris and Bobby just ignored us, asking for something else. Something we couldn't understand.
Bobby pointed again and gave us his best "Pweeese!"
And then Chris knew.
And then I knew.
And then this happened.
Some sweet babbling and cooing and then this.
And a little more of the first bit.
A little love for my little loves. Right there at the table.