babies and bellies

This is a smart child. I will lean down to him, hand him a wadded piece of paper and whisper, “Throw this in the trash can,” like he’s transformed into James Bond and his mission if he chooses to accept–AND HE HAD BETTER ACCEPT IF HE WANTS TO SEE AGE 2–is to insert this into the trash. And he does it and I watch his toddler feet pat-pat-pat until he lifts up the trash can and throws it away.

I cheer and clap because this is only the beginning of many, many requests I will give him. I grew up with a mother who added on to each chore, “But don’t get pregnant,” like “Go to the store…BUT DON’T GET PREGNANT!” Like, what do you think I do between the time I leave this house and I get to the store which is RIGHT NEXT DOOR?

TJ can say words like milk (meh or meh-meh), yogurt (yo-guh) and eggs (ecks–this is the Chamorro way!), over there, and his favorite word definitely: “YEAH!” This is in response to, “TJ, do you want some milk?” or “TJ, do you want a waffle?” or “TJ, do you think there needs to be a transnational feminist reading of fair trade and gender mainstreaming to understand neoliberal globalization?”

He is most definitely attached to me as evidenced by this weekend’s grocery shopping trip in which I had to ferry him around on my hip while my older son kept lifting my shirt and announcing, “YOUR STOMACH IS SO SOFT!”

Way to be a great influence, Nathan. I’m hoping that TJ doesn’t learn those words and if he does, he only says, “Your stomach is so soft, Mom! What is your moisturizing regimen?”

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