Before the holidays officially start, I thought I’d better put up a new post or two.  Some of this is from waaaaaay back in August.  I know… I’m a bad blogger.

So when we lived in Seattle, we would have to walk down stairs to get to the parking lot.  From the top of the stairs, Baby Boy could see where John would park his car.  One morning Baby Boy asked, “Where Dada’s car go?”  I said, “Dada’s car took him to work.”  Baby Boy immediately said, “Bad car!”  This conversation happened in July or August.  Sometime around his 2nd birthday he stopped calling us “Mama” and “Dada” and switched to “Mommy” and “Daddy.”

In late August, Baby Boy told his very first joke.  I was changing his diaper one morning after he had woken up for the day.  Baby Boy asked me, “Where chicken go?”  I said, “I don’t know.  Where did the chicken go?”  Baby Boy replied, “Chicken broke!”  This was then followed by peals of giggles.  For weeks afterwards, we would ask him “Where chicken go?” and he would always say, “chicken broke!” and start giggling.  We have no idea what inspired this joke, but he sure finds it funny.

In September, after a run, Baby Boy and I were walking back to our apartment.  We had just put the stroller back in the car.  While we were walking he started asking for something:  “poway.”  I tried to guess what he was saying several times with guesses like “potty?”  He kept answering me with, “No, poway!”  I finally guessed powerade.  He said, “OK!  powa ade!  There you go Mommy!”  After runs, John and I generally drink a little powerade, and he really likes when we let him sip powerade from our cups.

My favorite “conversation” happened when we were at my parents’ house in October.  Baby Boy was playing in the backyard with my mom.  I think there were some rocks, a water hose, a water fountain, a bubble machine, and a red popsicle involved.  I stuck my head out the door and told him he had 2 more minutes to play until bath time.  He said, “No, 5 more minutes Mommy.” I said, “No, 2 more minutes.”  Baby Boy argued again for 5 more minutes of playtime.  I caved and let him have his 5 more minutes.

Another time at my parents’ house he wanted me to do something for him.  I was busy trying to get us packed up to head to Austin, so I kept telling him “in a minute.”  Finally, he told me, “No more minutes Mommy!”


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