In his words

He's sitting in his high chair. "That! That!" He points desperately at the buffet, which is piled high with household junk.

"This?" I hold up a hat.

"No. That!"

"This?" I offer a crumpled Father's Day card that plays the theme song to Indiana Jones.

"No. That!" 

I hold up a few more things. Cell phone? Keys? Toy train?

"No. No. THAT!"

Finally, I realize what he wants. "Your harmonica?"

"Yes! MOCKama!" He grabs it happily and blows a few bent notes.

************

He sings a lot these days. "Twinkle twinkle, STAR, twinkle twinkle, twinkle STAR!"

Wheels On the Bus is another favorite. He waits with glee until the last note of each verse, chiming in with a dramatic "TOOOOWN! Yayyy!"

The alphabet song is the biggest hit this month, and a certain cure for any temper tantrums (which are increasing in both number and hilarious dramatic effect). "EM-inem-oh-PEE! Double-D ... Icks ... ZEE!"

He counts to ten sometimes, with only a wee bit of coaching.

This weekend, it was Jingle Bells. The thing is, we haven't been singing it to him in the last, oh, month or so. Neither has his nanny. We asked. Yet there it is, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, WAY!" Where does it come from?

***********

He wakes frequently in the night again, moaning and crying. We pop his binky back in, pull up his covers. He settles back into sleep. An hour later, the moaning starts again, this time followed by "Mommy! Daddy!" We bring him into our bed, where he immediately kicks his way into a horizontal position, feet pressing into my belly, head on the Mister's arm. He'll sleep like that, if we let him. We don't. At dawn, the moaning starts again. He moans for a good half hour before his eyes pop open. "Round-n-round!" He points at the ceiling fan. If it's not on, he makes us turn it on. Eventually, he crawls across me to turn on the clock radio. He also knows where the volume button is. Classical music blares out at top volume. He hops out of bed and starts dancing.

************

The Mister and I are having pints of beer while Squeaker eats dinner.

"Choos!" he yells.

"No, honey, this is yucky grownup stuff. It's not juice."

"Choos!!"

"No, it's yucky."

He sighs in frustration and lifts his sippy cup in the air. "Choos!!"

Aha. I lean over and clink my beer glass against his sippy. "Cheers!"

He's delighted. "Choos!"

***************

Oh, and if you're ever at our house and Squeaker demands "Apple juice!" you'd better not actually give him apple juice, or heads will roll. Never mind that he speaks the words more clearly than any other words he knows. Never mind that we've corrected him a million times. When he asks for apple juice, get out the OJ as fast as you can. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Comments

[Aegina]

Wow -- he's verbal! And adorable! :-) Enjoy!

[Maru]

Love this post! :)