Oh, the arbitrary things one can obsess over on one’s child. His heels. Are. Delicious. I’m not being funny; I honestly think they’re the cutest things ever. Or how hard he works on that lisp. His literally pushes his tongue so far between his teeth while talking (or ending a word, rather) that I am forced to smother him with kisses. Especially when he’s being really serious and his brows are furrowed.
I’m gonna be that parent (who completely makes sense to me now, btw) who is constantly talking about things their child did that no one remembers or witnessed but them. Yes, I refuse to get over it. It’s a miracle and a gift and I’m keeping it. Thank you.
UPDATE: The three year old who buses his own table comes over to me – moving markedly slower at 8:15pm than he was at 8 o’clock – and notices a bowl sitting on the floor beside my seat (worry not, homemakers, it’s hardwood). Rubbing his tummy with furrowed brows, he says, “Is that you-ahs?”
“Yes, honey,” continues typing.
“Ah you done?”
“Is it on dah flow-ah?”
“Yes, honey, it’s okay. I’m not going to finish it.” (Thinking he finds the food “on the floor” yucky.)
“Oh.” Breathing loudly. “Can I put dat on dah tay-ble?”