The D. Files

(I read quite a few blogs written by mothers, and the writing there is exceptional. My blog is more of a personal journal, where I jot down things before I forget them, and therefore it is extremely boring for others to read, I am sure. Not that anybody reads it, but for the sake of those few who do, here’s my attempt at a post that is less sleep-inducing than my usual ones.)

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Scene: I am sitting on the couch, breastfeeding Squeeker. D. looks at me for a while, then points at the boob and says “apple!” Here’s hoping he was referring to its (pleasing) shape and the fact that it provides food — I’d hate to think that my almost-two-year-old thinks my breasts are small, hard, and green. Then again, he calls pumpkins and mandarin oranges “apple,” too, so I guess my breasts are now a fruit.

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Scene: D. and I are walking down the stairs. There are two steps at the top, then a landing, followed by a long stretch down, another landing, and one more step to the tile floor. D. jumps from the top of the stairs to the landing, grins, grabs the rail, walks down, and jumps down four steps to the next landing. Grins again, turns, and climbs higher. He is now five steps up. Turns around, at which point B. and I say “NO” in unison. Another grin, one step down, and a jump. He lands, and proceeds to jump over the last step and slide on the tile floor. New rule: if we are going to be jumping down the stairs, we are going to do so in our bare feet.

I told the story to my mom. Her reaction: “I would have a heart attack!” Coming to our casa in November – “How I gave my grandma a heart attack” by D.. Watch this space for details.

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Scene: B. and D. just got home. B. went upstairs, and I hear D. downstairs, saying “Su, su, su” repeatedly. Curious to know what is going on, I come down, to see little guy sitting on the landing, patiently waiting for somebody to take his shoes off. The moment they are off, he runs away to play. In some ways, we have a very well-trained child.

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Scene: Our kitchen. D. grabs the two puppy towels, puts them on his arms, and runs around the house, towels flapping. That goes on for two days, to much parental amusement. Also while in the kitchen, D. would attempt to close the child-proof lock on the cabinet that hides the garbage – because that door is supposed to be locked. Helpful little guy.

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Scene: this morning. While B. preps D.’s lunch downstairs, and I feed Squeeker in bed, D. comes to visit. He comes bearing gifts, two – in three trips, two pens, a piece of paper, and a DVD-R from the study are all laid on the coverlet for me to enjoy. D. then proceeds to pull pieces of shelving from B.’s closet. When he judges that a sufficient amount of squares have been pulled out, it’s time to jump-test them. More squares are added as needed, and my “D., that’s enough” is ignored – he knows that with Squeeker attached to my boob, I am not a threat 🙂

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