In the past 24 hours, Sawyer’s conversational skills seem to have exploded. His sentences and word bank have been growing for months and in spending time with his cousins and older family members recently, he really started talking so much more, but then this week, jesus, he just hasn’t stopped.
At school pick up last night, we had an epic battle over whether or not he felt like putting his jacket on, in the sleet, on a night I just wanted to get home. I don’t know what it is about putting his on his jacket, but the minute I tell him to, he starts glaring at me like an angry koala. I asked nicely, I begged, I demanded. Nothing. I pretended to leave, one of my go to parenting tactics. I told him the door wouldn’t open if someone tried to walk out jacket-less. He said yes it does, look, and pointed to two parents who waltzed out jacket-less, making me a damned liar. Now he wouldn’t even consider putting it on.
Put it on, Sawyer. I’m being SERIOUS. I tried to make the wild eyes that mean fucking business, those eyes that I’ve been trying to master for almost three years now. Those eyes that mean, you better stop moving and almost breathing and stop doing what you’re doing but don’t you dare make me say words and you are going to hear about this when we get home. I truly can’t wait to master that life skill.
No, you. 100% got that from me.
If you do not put it on, Sawyer, you have to stay the night here by yourself.
Bye! And then he went to walk away, like staying here alone was better than putting on that goddamned waste of money jacket that he only wears when someone else suggests he put it on.
Later on in the night, after dinner, on the couch snuggling, he looked up at me and said, Are you looking at me? which for a second made me feel creepy, until he casually leaned over, swept my leg up and down and then told me, Mommy, those are prickeeellllllyyyyy! Then he did it again and screamed when he made contact with the forest growing on my legs.
They are not prickly, I defended myself, but I laughed because he’s beyond observant lately, and mostly when I’m naked, which has been very awkward in the instances where he just comes up to me, pokes something and tosses out the first three adjectives that come to mind. It’s funny the level of shame a child you birthed can bring to your life.
Yes, he insisted, they hurt. Well, now he’s a liar because the hair on my leg is actually so long, it’s impossible for it to be sharp. So he’s lying and I’m feeling bad about being a lazy woman.
When I changed him into his pjs last night, he slapped his naked belly, shouting, SAWYER HAS A BIG BELLY and when I laughed and poked his belly with my finger, he shrieked, BIG BELLY LIKE MOMMY! and then he tried to poke my belly and then we had a sit down and had to discuss what happened to men when they poked a woman’s belly and squealed and laughed.
This morning he ran by me in a flash, knocked his brother on his ass, kicked a soccer ball into the wall and without me noticing, swiped my iced coffee off the counter and shouted, MMMM TASTY! as he slurped as fast as he could. After hurdling a few annoying toys and sprinting at him for my precious coffee, I swiped it back and said, No, Soy, no more coffee, remember?, he shouted COFFEE IS MY FAVORITE and tucked it under his arm and ran like he was playing football and made a fucking mess in the process.
Not three yet. And I have two of them. I am fucked.