The Boys: June 2006 Archives

Ewan's dialogue is growing at a terrifying pace. He utters each new word he learns with a beginner's hesitancy but when he's familiarized himself with the term he starts repeating it like a drill sergeant. Unfortunately, many of the words flying from his mouth are embarrassing, horribly mangled versions of their former selves as Ewan takes as much delight in bastardizing the English language as Nana does.

An example of Ewan dialogue:

"Ah woont COCKIT MOOK. COCKIT MOOK NOW. Peeeeeaaas? Peas? Pee-peas? Cockit Mook? COCKIT MOOK! MAMA! NOW!"

Translated:

"I want CHOCLATE MILK. CHOCOLATE MILK NOW. Pleeeease? Please? Pretty please? Chocolate milk? CHOCOLATE MILK! MAMA! NOW!"

Yesterday Nana confided that Ewan was pointing to her clock on the wall and asked what it was.

"A clock," she told him.

You can guess what that came out sounding like.

Liam is going through some sort of stage right now where he constantly talks ALL OF THE TIME WITH THE TALKING. His voice bounces off the walls of my head at night when I'm trying to sleep. He's gone so far as to attempt conversation with us while he's on the toilet. He stops speaking long enough to grunt if needed. Sometimes he doesn't even speak in coherent sentence; he just speaks to hear his own voice. I attribute this to my and Chris's earlier over-parenting, wherein we zealously devoted our undivided attention to Liam and were totally interested in every little gurgle which resonated from his voice box, even if we were only pretending. Now we have two kids and when you have two kids you quickly learn that you can't be as zealous and over-devoted as you were with the first because a) you don't have as much time and b) it will KILL YOU. For instance, before Ewan was born, we fussed over every little boo boo Liam acquired as though a trip to the ER was an imminent possibility. Now we tell both boys: "Ah, here. Just put some Bactine on it."

I've heard that you fill out every little space in your first child's baby book; with the second kid you sort of get around to writing their name in it. I thought "Oh that's awful, I will do the same thing with my second as I did with my first," but I didn't.
Liam has a baby book stuffed to the point where it can't fully close - in addition to a "baby box" filled with his First Onesie, First Socks, First Hat, hair from his First Haircut. If it were for any purpose other than documenting the infancy of my first child it would be called a Stalker Box.
Ewan doesn't have a "baby box." It's because I'm a bad mother. Really though, It's not that I care less for him, it's just that the chaos of having children - plural - forced me to realize the priority of things a while ago, and knowing when your first molar broke through isn't all that important. When my mother showed me that she'd collected all of my baby teeth and had them saved in a sandwich bag stowed in her belt drawer I thought "Ugh. Sicko."
For real, I've never once needed to know when my first tooth came in or when I first rolled over. Only for kindergarten bragging rights, maybe.

Except that Liam never got that memo, so it's still all of the time with the talking. Now he has to contend with Tank (a.k.a. Ewan) for our attention, a child who gets a gold star if he makes it through the day without crapping all over himself or eating something gross. Perhaps the never-ending talking isn't so bad after all.

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