Conversation between P.A. and myself at Dane’s 15-month well check:
P.A.: “So how many words is Dane saying?”
Me: “Oh, I think he has five or six.”
P.A. (with wide-eyed, you don’t know? bad mommy look): “Are you sure?”
Me, flustered: “You know,” I say. “He says:
Mama, Dada, and Bumpa (which I’m pretty sure means Grampa)
UPUPUPUPUPUPUP. Up. Mama. UP.
(Not to be confused with) BupBup (Puppy)
(Or to be confused with) Bah (could mean ball, or what a sheep says)
(Ditto with) Buh(n) (Jellycat Bunny)
(Also not to be confused with) Buh (which most definitely means bus, and very weirdly at exactly the right times that the school bus is coming. Sometimes I listen to his tummy for a tick-tock a la the crocodile in Peter Pan, WHAT?)”
P.A. sighs. I continue. “Also in the B’s are:
Booh (unrelated to Halloween, usually when he’s carrying around an Ugg or one of our cowboy boots, shortly followed by) Ahn? and then AHF! and then a wail of disapproval, followed by Ahn! Ahn! Ahf! Ahn! and then Coffee, Mama?”
At this, P.A. cocks his head and opens his mouth, but by then I’m on a roll and so I say, “And there’s:
Cookuu (cookie), coffee (literally, just like he was ordering at Starbucks, see above), coco (open), GoGoGOGOGOGOGO (sometimes to be confused with open until it’s paired with a garbled OUTSIDE, MAMA), Ju (if you don’t know what that means, you don’t have a toddler), and my two personal favorites, tea (almost always followed by Mama and a disapproving look) and teekle-teekle (usually accompanied by his hands on his tummy and chest or sometimes by him rolling over on his back and looking at me expectantly. Either he’s Cheech Marin or part basset hound, I don’t know.)”
Here I take a breath, and the P.A. opens his mouth again but I see where this is going, and quite frankly I’m still annoyed by his earlier look and enjoying my little soliloquy, so before he can get anything out, I launch again:
“And then there are the randoms:
‘Patula, potty, teetee (last two related), locked, unlock, yuckee, yuckee diaper (pronounced more like yu-eee di-er), trash, ‘Dis?, ‘Dat?, yeah (followed by nod of self-approval), Luke-Laura (our neighbors), sp-sp (spray bottle) and lately we’ve also been getting the occasional reh (red) and various other garbled colors. And the rest of the foods: nana, buhbuhbuh (blueberry), PUFF. PUFF. PUFF. PUFF. PUFFPUFFPUFFPUFF,cheetoh, chicka, CHEEEEEEEEEZE, vacah (avocado), papa (pasta, not to be confused with BupBup, especially if pasta in mouth when spoken), tita (tortilla, thanks, A.B.) and then there are the animals and their sounds, starting with – ”
But before I start mooing and quacking and hissing, the P.A. holds up his hand and waves it in front of my face.
“Great,” he says, but now he’s got even more of a funny look on his face, and I’m so self-satisfied that Dane not only knows five or six words, HE HAS A WHOLE FREAKING LEXICON, Y’ALL, that I don’t realize until I’m walking out the door that I’ve just told our doctor that Dane is a soap-opera addicted Cheetoh hound who thinks Starbucks is a food group, gets locked in and out of the bathroom and cross-dresses in his mama’s shoes, or in short, that I’m Britney Spears circa 2008. Because, well, YES, THAT’S MOSTLY TRUE.
p.s. (a week later, don’t hate me, I have a toddler and a cold and a cheetoh/soap habit to feed) – I’m going to participate in “yeah, write” for a few weeks here, so if you’re one of my three or four lurkers, go on over, check it out (there are lots of good writers over there!!) and (DUH) vote for me!