The toddler progresses wonderfully at 19 months. We haven’t been convinced of this fact since he mostly says bæsj/appi (poop) and tiss (pee) a lot and since when did that represent progress? So, for our reassurance and your reading pleasure, here are some highlights from the parent-carer coffee fest:
Are these sheets an artistic representation of bird droppings or the wayward pencil strokes of a deranged mind? Apparently neither. He painstakingly says, “Eye. Eye. Nose. Mouth” while creating fridge art. He is obsessed with tith (teeth) and sheeks (cheeks) and insists on drawing those too. Though you couldn’t see that even if it came and bit you on your sheeks.
Sometimes, he will sit in a corner by himself and be heard chanting, ti, elleve, tolv (ten, eleven, twelve). We are not worried. The first nine numbers are a total crock anyway, right? Right.
He is a muy social animal. So is a chimp, you say. Or a meerkat for that matter. Like any good chimp, he plays well with others, shares, laughs when Bill Maher comes on TV and wiggles his bum with the rest of the group when they sing “Boogie Woogie”. He has been tried and found guilty – on rare occasion – of sandwich theft and umm.. rearranging the occasional face. (This could be the Bill Maher influence) We are told that this is well within the range of Acceptable Toddler Misdemeanour. So there.
Norway has but this one gentle language – Norsk. In Norwegian terms, our son is almost a linguistic prodigy given that he has a handle on three. Here is a choice selection of words he knows in these languages. Poop. Pee. Snot. Yes. No. Bum. Food. Hungry. Thirsty. Milk. Flower. Peekaboo. Kiss. Hug. Boobs. Bye. He’s ready for life in the global wilderness, donchya think? Hell, he’s probably ready to date. (Oh, like you haven’t dated guys who could barely grunt, “Wow. Boobs.” No? My bad, then.)
He eats well. He wields his spoon and feeds himself. He will decimate anyone who insults him by offering him a sippy cup. The hot pink IKEA plastic glass will do just fine, thanks. His bowel movements give no cause for concern. (Great. Now I won’t lie awake at night. Though I’m touched that they actually cared to note this point down.) This could be due, in part, to eating copious amounts of sand (sand=fibre?) while he’s in the sandpit, and the occasional urge to guzzle dirty water. Dude, sand pies aren’t real pies. Is this so hard for your 19 month brain to comprehend? D-uh. Bet the chimp would have figured this out.
My son is a big, fat singing fake. He belts out the last two words of each line like, “Back Sheeeep” or “Li Star”. Belted out with such gusto and volume that you’d truly think he was a rockstar. He applauds himself once he’s done. (The self-esteem is straight from the Padré.) My son, a pretend rocker. I can’t live this down. If he didn’t love Abba (Hunny hunny, Mia Mia) and his KISS t-shirt, he’d be loooong gone.
Intrepid. Their word, not mine. While most kids are sticking to the sandpit, the swings or their carer, Armaan is apparently out there exploring the outer boundaries of his school, babbling to the older kids and making the rounds. Total absence of anxiety – stranger or otherwise. Stars in the Viking’s eyes as he pictures his youngest – an explorer – trooping to the South Pole in true Amundsen style. Horror clouds the mother’s eyes as she imagines the knee-high shit that “intrepid” boys can wade into.
He is always happy. Till he’s not and then its Game Over. Put your weapons down, retreat quietly and no-one gets hurt.
The Princess Di of Daycare. He goes around hugging everyone and blowing kisses randomly. If he finds you to be seriously cool, he will plant you a wet one right on the lips. Now we know why he’s been sick all winter. All this making out is probably like a toddler STD. Am I on to something here?
Image courtesy: http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcfilms/images/meerkats_poster.jpg