The Case of Bubble v. Bubble

Dear Goosey:

It's not your birthday, but I just have to write and get something straight: Tonight, when we had that total misunderstanding about "bubbles in the bath" vs. "bubbles from a plastic container with a wand inside," I really was not trying to just trick you into going upstairs to get ready for bed. I swear.

All I said was, "Hey! Let's go upstairs and take a bubble bath!"

And all you said was, "Huhhhhh!!!!" which means, "yes" in Goosese.

So I was very confused when you went into the kitchen and pointed at the cupboard. And I thought that meant that you were hungry, so I gave you a whole grain organic apple-cinnamon cereal bar (which you devoured) and then I said it again, "Let's go take a bubble bath!"

And again you went to the cupboard.

So I gave you an organic blueberry poptart (don't ask about the breakfast food trend). But this was not acceptable. So I hauled you halfway upstairs -- kicking, screaming, bucking, snorting -- until I realized that this was not a tantrum, but rather a misunderstanding. Call it mother's intuition, but I just knew that you had some REASON for being so UNREASONABLE.

So we ventured, yet again, into the kitchen where I hoisted you up onto the counter and allowed you to just show me what it was that you wanted.

And of course you got out the bubbles. As in screw off the top, pull out the wand, and blow. Duh. If you wanna take a bubble bath then you have to have your bubbles which are stored in the cupboard right next to the Playdoh and the waffle iron (there's the breakfast theme again). Nevermind that you have taken numerous "bubble baths" without the wand-type bubbles.

I'm working so hard at trying to understand how your mind works. And what's fascinating to me -- language/grammar dork -- is that it seems to be changing as you learn language. As you acquire words for things, your worldview expands.

For example, you have now weaned yourself. After a long time of following the doctor's orders -- "don't wean between 16 and 20 months," "don't wean during flu season," "don't offer; don't refuse" -- I was beginning to think that I would have a nursing kindergartner. But you have now taken it upon yourself to wean, and I think it's a good decision on your part.

This happened right after you learned the word "baby." One night you were looking at a picture of a baby in a book and you said it. And then your dad and I started saying things like, "Only babies nurse -- big boys just give big hugs (and use cups)" or "Only babies poop in their diapers -- "big boys use the potty."

And then one night when we were taking a non-wand-type bubble bath, you pointed at my chest and said, "No, no, no, no!!! Baby." And you haven't nursed since.

So I guess now I am no longer a milk cow. I may still be a cow. In fact, I'm starting to think that perhaps fatted cow is more appropriate -- as in someone is fattening me up for slaughter or something, because I cannot fit into my pants, but that's another story.

I was worried that if you weaned, I wouldn't have as much time holding you and that I'd miss that special bonding. However, you being the #1 Son that you are, have made up for it by creating a game called "night-night." It involves you draping your blanket over my chest, laying your head down there, and saying, "night, night" while allowing me to hold you for extended periods -- like, oh, say minutes on end. I was almost late for work today on account of this. Your dad was standing at the door, waiting on us to get in the car so y'all could drop me off. He was saying, "C'mon! We've gotta go!" But you and I were just rockin' in the La-Z-Boy.

Rock on buddy.

XOXOX,

#1 Mom (aka "FC")