The things a not-quite-four-year-old says are something, aren’t they?
The other day I mused to BB, “I wonder what you’re going to be when you grow up…”
And his reply? “A GROWNUP!” (Duhhhhh, Mommy. What else would I be?)
After a little further clarification of what I meant, he promptly said, “I’m going to work in dirty jobs where I can get muddy all over.”
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On election day, he pointed to the TV and asked who that was. “It’s Barack Obama,” I said, surprised that it even got his attention.
“What’s a rocko bomma?”
He went on to ask about what a president was, but I was soon in over my head.
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We’re working on the concept of lying. We’ve got a long way to go. If I say, “No Lying!” he thinks I’m saying something that makes very little sense about tawny colored beasts with sharp claws that roar.
He’s taken to claiming that “it was a accident” in order to avoid further trouble, but I say “I know it was on purpose, and if you say it was an accident, you’re lying.” And then he’s off thinking of tawny colored roaring beasts again. What I need to say is “if you say it’s an accident when it’s not an accident, that is a LIE, and that’s not nice.” Or something like that. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
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We still get the discussions about forbidden words. Out of the blue. “Mommy, I’m not allowed to say dammit, because it’s a bad word, so I don’t say dammit, just Daddy does sometimes when he’s mad, he can say dammit, because he’s a grown up, but I can’t say dammit, so I don’t say dammit.”
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Sitting with the baby while I was in the kitchen, “Are you happy I made a cup of me so he wouldn’t cry?” That one took me a moment to figure out what he was saying. “Yes, I’m very happy you kept him company so he wouldn’t cry. Thank you.”
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Here’s another conversation that we sometimes have.
“Mommy, do you like ___________s (insert wild animal)?”
“Yes.”
“NO! No, no, no you don’t, because they’re dane-jrus and they will BITE you!”
“Well, you’re right, they ARE dangerous, but I like to see them in a safe place like the zoo, or watch them on TV. Then I like them very much.”
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He likes to recount the birth story:
When I was really little, I’d say “Whahhh, whahhhh, whahhhh” and I was little little in your tummy but I got bigg-o and bigg-o and went to the hostibo and the doktor cut your tummy and put staples in and I went “Whahhhh, whahhh, whahhh” and I hurt your boobies and you had to pump.
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Any time in the past is “last day”…
“Last day, when we were sitting on the couch and I was being not nice and you hurted me and scratched-ded me like this (scratches his hand) and I was in trouble… ”
“That was an ACCIDENT, that I scratched you, even though you WERE acting up at the time.”
“Yes, oh yah, you wight, you wight, it was a accident, it wasn’t on purpose.”
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Just this morning, while reaching in the pantry for a cereal box, I dropped a plastic canister and caused a loud commotion.
“What the hell are you DOING?”
“Okay, you know those words aren’t for you. Sometimes Daddy says that, but we don’t say that. Do you understand?”
“Why does Daddy say that?”
And these are conversations for which I don’t have a good and reasonable answer. And kids, they’re so sharp, they pick up on everything. Everything.
