My frog princess is talking. Well, not so much but she is trying. She’s got “Dada” down. When she started calling Chico Mendes (the infamous puggle in our lives) “Dada” I started saying no, baby, that’s the D-O-G. So after a few times of correcting she says “D-O-H”. Every once in a while she actually pronounces the G but who cares, right? She’ll get it eventually.
For the record, there’s no “Mama” yet. I ask you, what must I do to hear those lovely words? I’ve been daydreaming about it. Thinking longingly about how I am going to sweep her up in my arms hug and kiss her and she will smile, grab my face with both of her little hands, say it again and then give me a sloppy kiss. I will cry but I will smile and be happy. So, um, when is this all going to happen, I ask?
For a while, I thought about sending her on an exchange program, if you will. One of our friends has a lovely beautiful little girl two weeks younger than my frog princess and she was saying nothing BUT Mama a few months ago! I told my child on more than one occasion that I was going to ship her off to their house so she could learn to speak. Well not speak, just to say Mama. Some people thought that was wrong. Well, some people don’t realize how much you want your child to call you by this title that you have been waiting your entire life to hear (and by you, I mean me). I have ovaries! I put my uterus to work! Therefore, I NEED to be called Mami! Mama is a stepping stone to that so, let’s get to it!
Before you think I’m sitting here beating my child over the head with the word understand that I am well versed in sarcasm so, just go with me on this one, will you?
Okay now you have the background. Here’s what’s going on now. My lovely, beautiful, sweet and happy child has been saying Da-Doh for a while. I’ve been thinking that it’s just her mixing up her words but, she is now pointing to things and when she says it she points to the dog. This weekend I had an epiphany and it wasn’t good.
The Man sometimes gets mad at the dog. And even when he’s not mad, when he’s affectionate to the dog, pretending like he doesn’t want him to sit next to him or cuddle up on the couch, The Man uses two little words that up until recently I thought nothing of: damn dog. It is usually followed by loving stares from Chico Mendes and a pat on the head from The Man (for the dog, not for me). Well, you know where this is going, don’t you? The child has been saying Da-Doh. The Man calls Chico Damn Dog. The formula is clear Da-Doh=Damn Dog! Ohmigawd! I’m THAT mom! He is THAT dad! Goodness gracious!
The lesson here? Be careful what you say. The REALLY big problem? It’s football season, my daughter is starting to repeat everything that is said and we are BOTH General Managers of Fantasy Football leagues. Needless to say, we are in trouble!