Posts Tagged ‘babies’

Recently I’ve been napping more because the kiddo has been sick, and even though I’ve been exhausted I haven’t always been able to fall asleep because my brain can’t stop fixating on weird things. The other day, it was on a roll thinking of phrases that sound funny when you replace one word with “baby” or “babies.”

For example:

– A good baby is hard to find.

– When baby talks, people listen.

– Let sleeping babies lie.

– Nobody expects the third baby.

– Babies heal all wounds.

– You have to break a few eggs to make a baby.

– Who’s afraid of the big bad baby?

– ‘Cause every girl’s crazy about a smart dressed baby.

– Babies never strike twice.

This game is even funnier if you play it with the word “poop”: Nobody expects the third poop. You deserve a poop today. Poop, there it is!

And yes, I do know I need to get out more.


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You are 23 months old.

You received a wooden train set for Christmas. Your favorite thing to do with it is flip up the arms on the crossing gate.

You also enjoy fitting together two or three random pieces of track and dumping all the pieces out of the huge basket where they live.

You know when Mama skips a page of your favorite book, and you do not hesitate to tell her so.

You have learned to ask, “May I?” while grabbing things off the countertops. Sometimes you add a “please.”

You started saying the Telugu words for “what” and “hang on” during a recent Skype call with your Indian grandmother.

You have known for a while that sheet music is to songs as books are to reading. But now you try to pick out the songs after Mama finishes playing.

You adore packing and unpacking things: the matchbox car carrier, groceries, the dishwasher, a case of MP3 player stuff.

You talk around things that are in your mouth: straws, toothbrushes, your thumb, your bottle. And so now we ask you to take things out of your mouth and repeat yourself so we can understand you.

You have counted to four once, and to two once, both times while picking things up. You also count along when Mama counts the stairs as we go up or down.

You do not like Mama to carry you up or down the stairs, and will yell “walk!” in protest, but you often hold your arms up for Daddy to carry you.

You are roughly 34 inches tall and somewhere between 25 and 26 pounds.

You cried as soon as you saw the nurse at the doctor’s office, refusing to get on the scale and weeping your way through an armpit temperature reading. As far as we can figure out, she give you a shot a long time ago.

You know there’s a camera in your room, because daddy told you.

You are still an angel on the changing table, though you have begun to twist from side to side as you try to see things on the floor.

You have a five-syllable word: peekakabaga, your mashup of peekaboo and kabaga, which is your word for kaboom. You also have many new words, chief among them: booger, medicine, snot, kaboom, game, really, bless you, peanut butter, wallet, careful, broken, fixed, better and booty. You have also begun to string two and three words together: Hi bug, open Sesame, goodbye daddy, may I please.

You have seen three snowfalls this winter but have yet to play in the snow because every time, you’ve been sick, or Mama’s been sick, or the temperatures have been deadly.

You respected the Christmas tree while it was up, helped put the ornaments away, and asked after it when it disappeared from the living room.

You were shown “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” and wandered out of the room after 5 minutes.

You repeat words in conversations that take place while you are concentrating on something, the most stunning example being at a kiddie art class where you were talking to Grammie and Mama and stopped to repeat a color uttered by a kid across the room.

You’re very, very good at repeating a word after hearing it for the first time.

You are beginning to attempt to sing and for a while you said “la-la” if Mama asked you to sing a song. This week, you began to actually vocalize, sweet little lines of “ahhhhh.”

You said “sorry” to a boy you bumped with a piece of gym equipment — your first spontaneous apology.

You are 23 months old, and sometimes you still fold up your legs and feet exactly like you did when you were a newborn.

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You are 22 months old.

You love picking out Daddy’s coffee mug every morning.

You beg for your vitamin…. all day long.

You do not enjoy having your hair washed, despite the purchase of a device that keeps your eyes and ears free of water and which you were happy about (for one bath).

You attended your first holiday party and were respectful of the hostess’ belongings while enjoying the raisins from the snack mix.

You enjoy applying lotion. Well, if you can call slapping yourself applying…

You played with a parts organizer for half an hour the morning Mama ordered your Christmas gifts.

You went straight to one of your gifts at Gymboree a few days ago and had to be wheedled away from it when our class was beginning.

You use a potholder correctly when you play-cook along with Mama.

You love to climb up on the rocker in your room, and insist on sitting next to whoever is reading to you (NOT on their lap).

You are beginning to say “milk” instead of “meeps”

You say “kabaga” instead of kaboom, usually when you’re flinging yourself on the floor during the hour before bedtime commonly referred to as Tasmanian Devil Time.

You have a renewed interest in your boy baby doll. In particular, you like to take all his clothes off and then have Mama put them back on so you can take them off again.

You are very keen on the 8-minute cartoons we let you watch when we brush your teeth. (Silly Symphonies, early Disney work, very cute and funny stuff.) Your current favorites are the Three Little Pigs and the Cookie Carnival.

You like the Christmas tree, occasionally inquire if it needs a drink, and insist on having it plugged in when you’re around. You’ve taken a few ornaments (“oms”) off but otherwise leave it alone because you know it’s pokey. You also enjoy saying hi to certain ornaments, and shaking Mama’s hand after greeting each one. You were not interested in decorating it, though you did enjoy instructing Mama and Daddy to put things up high.

You are 22 months old, and we can see the two-year-old in you.

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Parenting takes you to some weird places, most of which you had no idea existed. It’s all part of the fun when you’re aiming to make it through a day with a toddler with a minimum of trauma and a maximum of amusement.

For example: I am a college-educated woman living a happy middle-class life. I am (generally speaking) mentally stable. I do not believe in fairies. Why, then, did I start talking to my son’s feet a week ago?

I don’t recall a considered decision-making process, but it probably had something to do with a fussy kid on a changing table, because that’s where it always happens. See, the feet get restless, so they kick, and that kind of gets in the way of things like wiping and diaper cream and putting on pants. But if you talk to the feet and tell them, individually, what’s coming, they listen and chill out and let you do what you need to do.

The interesting thing is that the feet have different personalities. Right Foot is more outgoing and confident, quick to answer that yes, he’s ready for the sock. Left Foot (a/k/a Friend of Right Foot) is so shy as to be inaudible. You must press your ear to his big toe in order to hear his response.

Like I said, no mental illness that I’m aware of. But I’m not the only one who’s into it — the Boo will thoughtfully speak up for the recalcitrant foot if he (the foot) is feeling particularly shy. He will also request that I speak to the feet, chirping a plaintive “please” while holding his feet aloft over his bare bottom. And that, my friends, is about as high as you can get on both the Humor and Cuteness scales.

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You are 20 months old.

You still (still!) will not touch pasta, eggs, meat, cheese, cake or yogurt. However you do really like these, especially the cat ones:


You like to empty your toy bins so you can stand and sit in them. You don’t fit easily when you sit; it’s more like a squat during which you resemble those YouTube cats who like to cram themselves into seemingly too-small spaces.

You can say “cat” now, and your habit of saying “meow-meow” to mean cat is fading quickly.

You sometimes use “please” as a demand, melding it with “up” like so: “Uppease, uppease, uppease, UPPEASE!”

You like to practice taking off your pants. You do this proudly, smiling up at Mama to make sure she knows what a big boy you are.

You have mastered the steps and slides at the playground, though Mama still stands by just in case you get distracted on the stairs. You particularly love the higher, faster slides.

You rush up to other kids on the playground, saying either “hi” or “baby!” We’re working on teaching you “kid” and “boy” and “girl.”

You prefer to walk down the stairs (while holding Mama’s hands or the handrail). You squirm mightily when carried down. That’s when we have short talks about being safe on the stairs.

You are officially down to one nap, though we all struggle through the time that used to be your morning nap. Our watchword for this timespan is “distraction.” Which sometimes translates as “iPad.”

You are adept at climbing onto the couch, chairs and low beds.

You love to run across wide-open spaces, chanting “run run run” or just grunting the whole way. You can easily run for the equivalent of a city block.

You are collecting new words at a blinding pace. Often, they sound shockingly close to what they actually are. But sometimes we have absolutely no idea what you’re saying despite your boundless confidence.

You can find and open the paper toss game on the iPad. You’re not terribly good at playing it though.

You know, and know how to say, blue, red, green and yellow (boo, led, geen and yeddah). You know, but can’t say, orange and brown.

You recognize the letter “a” if it’s capitalized, and will point it out on the covers of books.

You recently went back to wanting a bottle before bed.

You have begun to tell stories of your experiences, the prime example being the time you stuck your hand in a rotten orange and then we threw it away. You also like the one about the time the garbage can pinched your hand. You cross your fingers and get as close as you can to saying “pinch” when you tell that one.

You will beg for a slice of lime, then gnaw on it, pausing occasionally to say “tart.”

You put a stick of sidewalk chalk down your shirt and left it in there for at least an hour this morning, pausing occasionally to take it out and inspect it before putting it back.

You are 20 months old, and it is a great joy to watch you revel in tasting tiny bits of independence.

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Some kind of miracle has occurred, i.e., the baby is still napping, so I’m going to try to crank out a quick post.

The Boo has begun to manufacture his own words for things. See if you can guess what each one means. (A great way to get an idea of what my days are like.)


Chuck, our neighbor, much adored by the Boo.


Yellow, his favorite color.


Music, duh.


Ned, his beloved bedtime buddy.


Yeah, I don’t get that one either, but that’s definitely what he means.

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1. A 19-month-old can throw a snack cup — the kind with a twist-to-lock lid — such that it pops open when it hits the floor.

2. Cheerios travel impressively far on highly polished surfaces such as the floor of our local Target.

3. Saying there’s been a Cheerio disaster gets a smile from a worker bee.

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Baboo: Please?

Me: Please what?

Baboo: Ice!

(I fetch ice and give it to the Boo.)

Me: Here you go!

Baboo: No!

Me: Okay!

(I ditch the ice.)

Baboo: Please?

Me: Please what?

Baboo: Ice!

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Me: Say “please.”

Baboo: “bees!”

Me: Say “pee.”

Baboo: “bee!”

Me: Say “daddy.”

Baboo: “dah-DAY!”

Me: Say “yes.”

Baboo: “yesh!”

Me: Say “house.”

Baboo: “housh!”

Me: Say “ice.”

Baboo: “eyesh!”

Me: Say “kitten.”

Baboo: “nyow-nyow!”

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You are 19 months old.

You have somehow learned that this symbol means “trash”:


You have been collecting new words: nice, trash (which was “dash” and is now “tash”), Elmo (much to Mama’s chagrin), go, pop, boom, help, pee, beep, please, eat, on, in, baby. Not that these words sound exactly like they’re supposed to

You now eat bananas like a normal person (previously Mama fed them to you on a spoon because you either refused to touch them, or smushed them and then complained about your banana-covered hands).

You adore your Daddy more and more as time goes on, running to see if he’s home after every nap and sticking as close as possible to him when he’s home. If you see a picture with a man and a baby, you call the man Daddy.

You occasionally get into a temper, usually when you’re tired. And it’s not really a temper so much as a very pathetic display of tears and sadness over a profound disappointment such as the kitchen gate being closed when you’d prefer to roam the entire first floor.

You sometimes take Mama by the hand to lead her to an activity you’d Iike her to participate in. Usually it involves a book. With kittens. Because…

You love, love, love kittens. Love them. When you see a dog you make your kitten noise. So it’s really cool for you that Grammie bought you a book that actually meows.

You enjoy play dates for the most part, though you tend to hang back a bit and remain puzzled by the concept of sharing.

You have become adept at going though play tunnels.

You love to “help” Mama sweep.

You will sometimes stamp your foot if you’re not getting something you want. We have absolutely no idea where you learned this charming little behavior. Seriously. Mama hasn’t stamped her foot since she was enduring the third fitting for her wedding dress.

You eschew all vegetables except carrots, sweet potatoes and the stems of broccoli.

You know what toilets are for, and you ask Mama if she needs to “bee” every time you see one. If she does, you enjoy getting paper for her, and you try to flush it while she’s still doing her business.

You can go up and down the steps of the jungle gym all by yourself. You can also get into and out of your little chair by yourself. You tend to throw your arms in the air and squeal whenever you get out of the chair successfully. Mama may have taught you that part.

You love to put on one of Mama’s or Daddy’s shoes and clomp around in it.

You said “no!” when you saw the needle for your flu shot, but you didn’t even cry afterwards.

You are 19 months old, and you are edging gently into Toddlerville.

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