For some months now, I’ve been looking forward to some milestones in Lil’ P.’s development. Please don’t misunderstand—I am not trying to speed up time. If you follow this blog, you learned how well I handled my children growing up in yesterday’s post. I do, however, wish Lil’ P. would pick up a few things at a more accelerated pace.
For instance, his insistence on climbing walls in public causes me some concern, as does his tendency to throw himself on the floor limply when I try to remove him from said walls. People look on in amused amazement, when, from his vantage point on the floor, Lil’ P. attempts to drag himself back to whatever he feels needs climbing while I firmly grip the back of his pants. The other day, I accidently bent over in front of two dads to keep Lil’ P. from climbing the outside of a Chick-Fil-A playset. Mr. Jenn, who had disappeared briefly to buy a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies all for me for the children, saw my sexy gymnastics and felt the need to tell me that both fathers gave me about a seven.
At least my pants didn’t split. Nor did Lil’ P’s. There’s something to be said about Osh Kosh.
I am also hoping that even before he stops climbing people public facilities, he improves his verbal skills. His precious babbles confuse me at times. The good news is, though, that he finally learned the word “truck.” The bad news is that he has a tr-/f reversal.
I guess that’s why the cute young mothers on the toy truck aisle at Wal-Mart curled their lips in disdain at me for allowing my toddler son to point and repeatedly scream “dumfuck” at them while he’s clapping his hands in delight.
Another verbal confusion happened in our living room yesterday while Big A. and Lil’ K. enjoyed their hundredth or so screening of Bambi. Upon noting the scene where Bambi first sees his impressive stud of a father, Lil’ P. pointed in the direction of the TV and hollered, “Dick! Dick!”
Big A., naturally, rolled off the couch snickering and probably Tweeted about the entire incident.
Apparently, Lil’ P. got so excited about the big deer that he sat on the shelf right beside the television. Naturally, I had to pull him off by his pants, he screamed, and everyone missed the pivotal scene where Bambi’s mother explains that the big buck is his father. That could have possibly cleared up Lil’ P.’s confusion, or made it worse. I’m not sure.
Soon after, Lil’ P. began to chant his new word. “Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.”
I observed him carefully. He beat on his high chair, then he gave the couch a good pounding.
Suddenly, it hit Big A. “He means `sit.’ That’s what he’s trying to say.”
I quickly put him in his high chair.
“Dick,” he said, with a satisfied smile.
So, yeah, I’m looking forward to a few milestones.