Yes, “UH OH”, it looks like the pediatrician was wrong and you aren’t a genius. Stop biting yourself, kid. Save that for the boys in pre-school, or high school for that matter. If you REALLY want to make your Mama happy you could also bite bitchy girls in junior high as well. I promise I’ll have your back if the principal calls and blame it on some rare genetic disorder like “Bitchititis”. And then I will tell them you can fart on cue and burp the alphabet and WHY AREN’T THEY CULTIVATING YOUR GOD GIVEN TALENTS? What am I hypothetically paying them for anyway?
The past few weeks with you have been nothing short of sheer joy dipped in sunshine with my only regret being wishing that I had more time with you just so we could “hang” and talk. I’m convinced you hold the secrets to the universe. Well, at least my universe. We can pretty much communicate like any normal talking human beings except no one else can understand you but me. Tonight you let loose with a stream of gibberish and I told your Dad that you very clearly said that “he couldn’t have your BaBa” right after he told you the beer on the kitchen counter you were desperately trying to grab was “Dada’s Baba”. I told him you were pissed-as any good offspring of mine would be at being denied a Budweiser-and that you pretty much thought he was denying you your night-night BaBa. And this grievous insult was the cause for the flinging, dramatic fit you were currently throwing. I think it took all he had not to throw the remote at my head when he smart assedly returned, “Thank you, Rick Warren.” Hey man, I got mad 14-month-old language skillz. What can I say?
I don’t know how I CAN understand you. I don’t know if it’s a “mama” thing or if I’ve just been around really, really drunk people for way too much time in my life. But, when you look at me very seriously and say, “I umba nee mah ba ba un me meow meow”. This means you would like a bottle and be taken to bed. Your dad, on the other hand, thinks it means you would like an Asian massage and another beer. Some nights we try both-just for shits and giggles. Surprisingly, they both seem to work equally well.
I would also like to mention that you speak fluent “Cat”. When you are either very angry or very upset, you will frequently scream-or whine ”UM MEOW MEOOOOW”. I occasionally want to ask Fat Jesus The Cat to translate. But, he’s too busy trying to reach his ass so he can clean it. I don’t like to interrupt him because his valiant effort at this undertaking of cleaning his undercarriage is probably the only reason he isn’t in a shelter. I’ll give anybody a chance if they are TRYING. (I AM a social worker after all)
Unfortunately, he can’t reach his huge ass and this often results in lots of “dirty tooter stains” on the couch. I won’t save you the gory details as they are part of my daily life. When Fat Jesus pees it catches in his tooter hair and dries there to make this lovely stench which he then drags along all the furniture. I might be willing to put up with this behavior without beating his ass daily if he would at least aid us in understanding your frequent long streams of “Meow, meow, meooooow, MEOW, MEOW”. Mainly because we are starting to think you aren’t normal. The spinning and repeatedly walking around the house shoving your whole hand in your mouth and then pulling it out and screaming, “EEEMMM” doesn’t help either. You are totally weird. I’m so proud. In fact, between all that and your freakishly large vocabulary for a 14-month-old it would normally have the hypochondriac in me screaming “AUTISM” faster than you can swing a dead cat if you weren’t the most social animal that I’ve ever met.
Your GG takes you story time at the library two days a week where she says that you must walk around and greet all the other children before you allow the librarian to start. The librarian then allows you to “ring in the ceremonies” by pushing all the noise-making books first. You get this from me. Just don’t get the whole “taking a shot of tequila and getting so friendly you take your shirt off” part from me and we’ll be good to go. I mean, at least until college. We don’t want to raise an after school special around here.
Three weeks ago you started waking up in the morning and immediately pointing to the mole in the center of my forehead. The mole I’ve had my whole life. The mole people constantly think is a huge zit as it’s almost skin colored. After a few days of your obvious intense curiosity, I finally just screamed “MOLE” one morning when you pointed at it. This is where I start cursing my impulse control issues as now every morning when you wake up, you roll over, point at my forehead and scream, “MOOL”. It’s like I gave birth to Austin Powers. But with better dressing style and no horrific English accent.
We’ve started a new routine in the afternoons where as soon as you get home we all go into the front yard and let you run barefoot in the grass while you squeal and frequently face plant into the ground. The obvious pure joy you have at this seemingly mundane activity gives me hope for the world in general as your Mom and Pops are feeling a little broken down right now. It’s been a rough month for all of us around here and not just because you are cutting six new teeth at the same time. Your father and I are struggling with both losing our idealist ideas about saving the world as within one month’s time we’ve both had our home, and our cars, broken into. Mama’s job got ultimately more complicated due to budget cuts, your Nana got put in the hospital this morning, and two weeks ago a kid at my facility went nuts and did five thousand dollars worth of damage while basically holding my entire staff hostage for an hour. Shits been rough, kid. You’ve been my rock.
Because, when stuff like that happens and I come home and your GG tells me that while you were having “nekkid time” that day running around the house she turned her back for one minute and then heard you say, “UH OH, WA WA” and turned to find you stomping in a puddle of your own urine, it makes the whole crappy day take on a brighter tinge of sunshine. I shouldn’t be as entertained by this as I am. But, you know, when it feels like the world is falling apart, if you can’t laugh at pools of pee on the floor, what do you have left?
Hopefully, I always have you. And when I have days like this…where my idealism is challenged. Where my cynical nature is running rampant and I’m cursing the world instead of trying to save it. You remind me WHY I’ve fought so hard for so long. And it’s that part of my life-you-that keeps my chin up and tits out-as my friend Em used to always tell me. Pools of pee in the kitchen always lighten the day. The fact that your GG said you spent three minutes stomping in it like it was a rain puddle lets me know there will ALWAYS be something worth saving. The fact that she lets you reminds me there alway was.
If only for our innocence, our sense of humor, and our little family's nightly Budweisers and Asian Massages. I love them so much I almost can't touch those feelings for fear of the gagging certain to follow. But always know, your Mama ain't as tough as she acts. Except for when it comes to you. Then I can turn into a eight-legged sixty-four clawed Saber toothed tiger with a set of poison darts and a blow gun with a scope. But, really, that's just because I've been living in Jackson for a while.
Here’s lookin’ at you kid,
Mama
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