A. usually gives C. his nightly bath. He fills the tub with warm water and bubbles and coaxes C. in by talking excitedly about his new boat. I love hearing A.’s quiet voice as he washes C., hunched over the tub even though his back hurts him. A. dutifully wipes down C.’s teeth and gums, even though C. sometimes resists. One time, A. got into the water with C. to mix it up.
A. was out of town this week, so I handled the baths. And C. was grabbing at himself. He pulled on his pecker and looked up at me so I would tell him what it’s called. “Penis,” I said, without even a hint of laughter (go me!) A. and I joke that we should teach C. the word “johnson.” But we can’t even say it without laughing. Oh, my sweet, sweet innocent boy. We have so much to teach you.
(Also, check out those boobs and fat folds: They should win an award.)
C., who’s a few days shy of 14 months, is on the cusp of speaking lots of full words. He says “hi,” “ball,” “bubbles,” “mama,” “up,” “nana” for banana and “ama” for llama, and he tries his damnedest to say words like “egg,” “orange,” “almond,” “bread,” “apple” and “peanut butter.” (Hm, interesting that it’s mostly food, no wonder his belly is so round and his cheeks look like he’s storing food for an ice storm.) When I ask him where his left foot is, he points to it (and his right, too). He knows what the letter “i” looks like (but not the others, does this mean he’s an egomaniac?). He’s working on enunciating the letter “l,” I’m pretty sure so he can say “llama,” his trusty bedtime companion (who he seems to de-pants a lot).
I know now is the time where I should be talking to him as much as possible. Thing is, I’m all talked out. I talked too much up till now. I’ve used up all of my words. I’m tired of talking. Tired of hearing my voice. Tired of the same books. Tired.
(I also realize that now is the time where I should stop using words like “riffraff” and “shit” and muttering things like, “you’ve got to be kidding me, what are you doing a-hole” in the car.)
Anyone want to come talk to my kid? For free?
Here’s what you’ll get: My gratitude, probably several hugs and lots of laughs (from C.). Oh, and I’ll probably make you some coffee and bacon and eggs. I know, I know, it’s an offer that’s impossible to refuse.
After much concerted thought, I have picked my three favorite words. They all have a similar sound to them, I clearly think the letter “k” is funny.
I discovered the word pronking one night a few weeks ago when my roommate was picking up her laptop and banging it against her leg or couch or whatever else she could find to make it work. I told her she was like a lion struggling with a gazelle. But after a bit of research, I found out that lions don’t eat primarily gazelles, but rather wildebeest and zebra because they’re slower.
That led me to a description on Wikipedia of a springbok, a small brown and white gazelle native to South Africa, and how they go into repeated high leaps and nobody quite knows why. It’s called pronking. Pronking sounds like when I’m happy and I skip down the street. I get a running start and soar off of one foot and when I land, I spring off of the other.