The Words Keep Coming

I miss my baby.

But I love the explosion of language that makes him a little boy.

Matthew really (read: really, really!) likes to pass gas and then announce it to the world. (What a total man in the making.) So. He'll let out a little squeak and then yell, "Toot!" Until very recently this word rhymed with foot instead of boot and melted my heart even if he was talking about gaseous emissions.

Lately he's been burping and then yelling, at the top of his little lungs, "TOOT!" I keep reminding him that if it comes out of the mouth it's a burp--I sincerely hope--and not a toot but he refuses to accept my instruction.

He's learned how to say, "Ow, dat hurt!" and he says it about everything. Today, I gently kissed him on the cheek and he screamed out, "Ow, dat hurt!" Later, we were walking in a store. Nothing touched him. "Ow, dat hurt!"

His favorite question is, "Where _________ go?" Insert any word he knows how to say in the blank. "Where daddy go?" "Where Ghrt go?" That is the absolute closest way I can possibly spell the way he says his brother's name. It is as though all vowels and superfluous consonants are completely unnecessary. "Where monkey go?" "Where Beck go?" "Where kiddieca go?" (Kiddieca= kitty cat.) "Where bankie (blankie) go?"

Anything sweet is a coo-kie. The answer to everything is "no" unless it is something he really wants. Then the answer is an emphatic nod and a "yah" said as though he's a part of the southern California surf scene. He often wants to "eat" and that word is typically accompanied with him sticking his finger halfway down his throat to properly convey that he wants food in his mouth. On the other hand, when he wants a "dink" he does not attempt to make himself throw up, he just stands in the middle of the kitchen and demands, "dink, dink, dink," until someone shows up and hands him a cup. "Please" still sounds like "peas" and his hand still quickly rubs his chest when he says it.

I think that he says something new several times a day. Of course, nothing he says makes me laugh quite as hard as his toot burps.

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Conversation with The Rock Star...
G: Mommy, can you do this for me? (He wanted me to run a tiny ball through a plastic party favor maze.)
Me: I'll try but these things are even hard for Mama.
G: They're hard for Grandma?
Me: Well, I said that they were hard for Mama but, yeah, they're probably hard for Grandma, too.
G: Really? She is super old!

For the record, my mom is not super old. Two score and thirteen. She's, like, a baby as far as grandmas go.