Is becoming seriously helpful. And seriously opinionated. No idea where he gets that from. Ahem.
Anyway, venturing into the wild unknowns of toddlerhood has me continually scratching my head and wondering ‘did I really say that word in front of him at some point?’ and ‘I wonder how many more months/weeks I have until he can rat me out to daddy that I (insert massive motherhood failure here) today…’
I picked up this book at my fav thrift store (Attention Denverites: Savers on Littleton and Windemere. It is phenom for baby clothes, books, and maternity wear… and the occasional designer shoe, if you’re the kind of gal who will stick her bare foot into someone else’s discarded footwear based solely upon the ratio of brand-name-status-to-rockin’-ass-price.)
I am that kind of girl, and I’m not ashamed. 2 pairs of JCrew (made in ITALY, people) flats and a pair of Sperry’s will attest to that. My husband thinks it’s slightly gross/weird, but probably not as gross as including a $150 line item in the ol’ monthly budget for footwear. So there.
Anyway, the book is 3 parts stupid and 1 part intriguing, and I’ve spent the past 2 days haphazardly implementing the very serious suggestion that baby through toddlerhood is actually a compressed span of the entirety of human evolution (if you’re into that sort of thing), and that our littles are actually mentally and emotionally progressing from monkeys to Neanderthals to little cave people between birth and age 3. Or something like that.
Anyway, the good doctor (famed for his more notable work, the Happiest Baby on the Block, which may or may not contain anything useful depending upon the craziness of your particular child) recommends that rather than reasoning with a tantruming toddler, mom or dad get down to their level and grunt to them, repeating their own words and short phrases to convey empathy and understanding.
Since my wee genius has like, 3 words in his whole vernacular (4 if you count curse words), my attempts to impart said brilliant strategy sounded a lot like this:
“NO. No NO NO no!” and “Unks! Unks unks UNKS” (which we believe to mean juice) along with a smattering of ‘Yeps’ and ‘Dudes.’
Quite the little orator I’m raising, no?
Anywho, I feel like this new channel of mutual understanding and love has opened up between us every time I squat down to eye level with him and start making jungle noises.
Or perhaps he is just alarmed enough to calm down and enjoy the spectacle which is first-time motherhood personified.
In either case, UNKS UNKS UNKS.