Mama-Come-Lately

There is a particularly fabulous playground we visit fairly frequently whenever the weather and our schedule permits. Last spring, Baboo was only talking in the sense of occasionally spitting out words, but I narrated everything to him like you’re supposed to even though it makes you feel like an idiot. He responded with eye contact and pointing like he was supposed to, and all was right with the world.

For about a week, there was a treat cup perched at the top of one of the support posts for the baby swings. He pointed to it, I named it, and we moved on. This cycle happened perhaps three times.

There was a hot stretch that prevented much outside activity, so it was fall before we were regulars there again. The Boo still wasn’t completely thrilled about swings, so we went on them only occasionally. But one day when we were over there, he pointed to the top of the post that had had the treat cup on it and said, “cup.”

It had been months. He remembered a few small exchanges from months ago, from before he could talk. My mind spun, thinking of the hundreds, maybe thousands of other experiences he had had in that time span, and before. How far back did his memory go? Could he remember everything, even if he couldn’t verbalize it? What about the things I had muttered in moments of frustration before he could speak — was he storing those bon mots away, too? And how would he interpret the time I had clipped his teensy nail just a wee bit too short?

I might have staggered a bit. I already took my job as a parent pretty seriously, but this really upped the ante. If he’s storing absolutely everything in his tiny head, that means my responsibility to make our exchanges positive and meaningful is utterly huge.

I just hope I can handle the pressure of this concept — refraining from swearing already has me itchy.