I mean, seriously.
I have this friend, this really amazing mother and feisty, smart woman of sorts, who has these twin toddlers.
Which of course, they rarely do. Unless you’re one of those Toddlers & Tiaras type families. Which, then, just — ugh. Reggie crosses me as the type who’d see the genius in that. (Touring with brilliant toddlers. However unrealistic).
The thing of it is, I’m starting to glean that many toddlers, if not all, are pretty dang humorous with the things they say. With the ideas and perceptions they conjure up in their brilliant, weird and magical minds — and then vocalize.
Sure, there’s quite a bit of sauce and testing of the parental units’ patience that goes along with all of the cute stuff.
Which is exactly what I’ve been saying for a while now. Which started with the babies. I’ve good reason to think that babies, for all of their delicate, beautiful and miraculous qualities, can test a woman, a mother, to the very core of her being. If an adult were to be all up in our business the way babies are? No way. No how.
It’s in their cute. It’s some sort of invisible field of energy, this alternate universe they bring you into, wherein one somehow survives all of the crazy —because all of the amazing is even more staggering. It can change a person, this parenting thing. Challenge one – I truly believe – to be a better person, not just a good parent.
So naturally, the progression into the Toddler-Hood, where the meltdowns and the back-talk and the constant testing? Somehow, it’s made more than bearable by toddlers’ astounding ability to say the most darling or hilarious things.
We’re fresh on the cusp of this milestone with our son Wyndham. His vocabulary is growing and the speed at which he is learning to articulate himself. Everyday it’s something new. Everyday I can’t wait to hear what he comes up with next.
Today, for example, words from the Wyndham-Nation were more of the sweet variety than the humorous. This morning, as I lay in bed, gathering the kahunas to lift my sore and weary body from bed, my little guy tip-toed in. I felt his warm, syrup-laden breath on the tip of my nose, his mouth only inches from my face as he put his hand on my head. “Momma…you wake up now?” He whispered gently. (Even in my groggy state I thought, Oh my word, this dude is an anomaly. One minute screeching and bashing against the evils that are a toothbrush or being given the wrong kind of granola bar. The next, he’s kind and gentle and calm and sweet.)
He had been up for a while with the mister already, belly full of berries and waffles and heart full upon the return of his Daddy who had been away for a few days. I peeped out at him beneath one heavy lid, and he let out a little giggle. Grabbing my arm to steady himself, (uhm, ouch, Im broken) he pulled himself up on the bed next to me and I said, “Remember momma has a sore back hunny bunny?” To which he replied, “Oh yea, dat’s wight. Aweeoa,” patting my back gingerly.
He laid about ten sweet little kisses on my face; nose, mouth and cheek. Of the kiss attack variety that he is accustomed to receiving from me. (Right about then I am melted on the inside from it all). He lifted his head up, and looked to be deep in though about something. Ever so carefully and almost commandeering, he sat straight up and said matter-of-factly, “You shud sleep more den momma, dat way you feel allllll bedder. Yea, dat’s wight.” One more kiss he laid upon me and was off in a furry of toddler ferocity, yammering about finding his sister and his letters, oblivious to the way in which he just rendered me a pool of mush.
And it’s moments like that, that make it all worth it. Those kinds of moments happen multiple times a day, in different ways, just evening out the field. I’m sure of it. Ya feel me?
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