Mammaries, oh mammaries…

I love when people tell me that 2 year olds don’t know what they are doing because they are still too young.  In reality, they are small people who are more attentive than the FBI / CIA / Scotland Yard…you get what I am saying.   These little people are so aware of their surroundings that we don’t realize what parts of our conversations they are focusing on.  You can repeat words or phrases over and over and over again and they will never say it.  You slip up with an awkward word and THAT becomes the word they decide is worth repeating.  Why do I mention this?  It’s a warning to future babysitters who have a playdate with someone who is not yet two year’s old.  Please note that the parroting vibe might kick in at the oddest moment.

I had jumped at the opportunity to babysit (a.k.a play with) my grandson when his parents wanted to go see a movie.  The day finally arrived.  I knew my little grandson would be sleeping for about an hour after I arrived and then after that would be playtime.  I arrived (quietly), but my little sweetie was tossing and turning unhappily in his bed.  After a few moments and some debate, mom went upstairs to check on him.  Sure enough, he was wide awake and unhappy.  That meant only mommy could hold and coddle him.  Mommy and little man cuddled for awhile and time was a-ticking.  The movie was going to start soon, so I scooped him up and promised them that he would be fine.  They looked at their beautiful little boy…snotty and sobbing.  I told them to make their escape and I would text them and keep them updated.  Off they went leaving me and my date to start our fun.

First we had to turn that frown upside down.  My plan…DISTRACTION!  I knew that wee one was teething and didn’t nap long enough, so being cranky made perfect sense to me.  He cried for a few minutes as I held him.  He put his head on my shoulder and started to relax.  After another five minutes the tears dried up.  It was time to get him into play mode.

I figured we would start off slow.  Books!  He loves books so we went into his bedroom and we found two of his favourites:  That’s Not My Monster and Who Loves You.  We brought the chosen reading material into the living room and we sat down on the floor.  We read each book many, many, many, many, many, many times.  Good news!  He was finally laughing and having fun.  The earlier drama was all gone.

At one point, he happily clambered up into my lap.  He was sitting facing me.  I had the monster book open and ready to read again.  He clutched the front of my sweater and looked down my top.  Off the cuff I said, “Yes, those are boobies.”  Then I pulled back my sweater and continued to read.  He started patting his hands on the outside of my sweater saying “BOOBIES” and smiling.  Oh my!  This could not be happening!  Well after a few more rounds of happy “boobies” yelling I managed to convince him that he needed a cookie.  DISTRACTION!  Sha-zaam!  That finally ended the mammary game.

The rest of the afternoon went on without a hitch.  Snack and playtime and reading and dancing.  Best workout I’ve had in a long time.  The few hours passed and mommy and daddy came home.  I decided to come clean and confessed my little mammary outburst.  Mommy thought it was hilarious so that was good news.  He had also stopped saying it so I figured it was over.  Thank goodness!

I received an interesting text the next day from mommy, “I came home and went to put on my pj shirt.  Guess what mister said?”  “Boobies” strikes again!  Crap.  Quite my little slip-up.  Then again, I could’ve dropped a curse word like the F-bomb.  Whoa!  Imagine how THAT would have turned out.  Still, I just can’t help visualizing them visiting friends or family and suddenly, while a female is holding our handsome little man, he will drop both hands onto their chest and declare proudly, “Boobies!”

Mammaries, oh mammaries

a.k.a. BOOBIES!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s