Every child reaches a point in their life where the “words” just start coming. And it’s usually overnight. And it’s very quick and the only word I can equate it to is “vomit”. It’s like they vomit words out of their tiny mouths with such force and amplitude that it can give me a migraine instantaneously. I’m glad we have plenty of Motrin in the house.
I, of course, am referring to Rowan, the littlest Dyer, not the youngest (they would be out in the kennel, but they are weighing well over a 100 pounds these days). Her vocabulary is expanding immensely. It at times seems much broader than mine which frequently consists of: “No!”, “Put that back now”, “Stop it!”, and my favorite, “What the….?”.
We were sitting at the dinner table Monday night (I know, everything happens at the dinner table it seems in this house!) and Rowan was trying to eat with her fork. No simple task, mind you, for an almost two year old who would rather stick her head in the food! And for awhile now, she has been referring to the fork as her “hook”. Clever, huh? Didn’t put those two together did you? And then she said it. Not fork. But she said “fuck”. My head spun around and she just grins and holds out her fork and says “fuck”. And this child feeds off every emotion my face holds, so I try not to act too surprised, but what am I suppose to do? So I wheel my head back to Matt, who is almost laughing on the floor. Now that’s just grand. Brenna is now in on the laughter and the floodgates erupt with “f” words strung together in a singsong melody. Guess we can’t go out to eat anymore. WTF?
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