I so cannot believe you're almost three-and-a-half. That seriously blows my mind.
While you're still very good at identifying singers and song titles, there are those times when you're stumped. And in those cases, you're not satisfied with simply not knowing. Instead, you make up the missing information. This most often occurs in the van. Case in point:
*a song comes on KLOVE that I've never heard before*
You: Mommy, who sings this song?
Me: I don't know, sugar. This is the first time I've heard it.
You: Well what's the name of the song?
Me: I don't know, kiddo. Let's wait and see if they announce what it is.
You: Oh *I* know!!
Me: Oh yeah?
You: Yes. It's called .... um .... (looking around the van) ... it's, um ... it's called ... GodCarseatBookCheerios!!
Me: You don't say! Who sings GodCarseatBookCheerios?
You: I think it's Nata-yee Gwant. No, no, no ... wait, no ... it's not Nata-yee Gwant. It's ... um ... (looking around outside) ... it's FireHydwantBirdGwass. Yeah, FireHydwantBirdGwass.
Me: FireHydrantBirdGrass? That's a really lovely name.
You: I know.
In addition to making up singers and song titles, you make up names for EVERYTHING we do. You dabbled in this a few months ago, but now you're a full-on Inventor of Made-Up Names of Activities. Such as "Momma, yet's pway the You Tickle Me Game Where I Yaff [laugh] and Yaff and I Say Stop But I Don't Wewwy [really] Mean It and You Tickle My Underarm Pitties [thanks Tickle Monster for that adorable phrase] and Then I Fall on the Gwound [ground] and Then I Get Back on the Couch and You Tickle Me Some More and I Yaff and Yaff and Then You Tickle My Feet. Yet's pway THAT game, okay?
One of your latest favorite things to do is to add. I know, I know - big surprise, given the copious amount of nerd blood running through your nerd veins. You're a champ at counting and adding on your fingers (this is a skill that will last a lifetime, as your 31-year-old mother still counts and adds on her fingers ...). Our time in the car while running errands is frequently spent adding numbers. Or counting syllables. You're really big on counting syllables, too. And your funny prounciation of certain words leads you to believe they have waaaay more syllables than they actually have. Like 'three'. One syllable, right? Au contraire, mon cheri. You think 'three' has three syllables. Thuh-wee-eee. You also think if you say a word quickly, it only has one syllable. Like 'apple'. You hold up one finger and say 'apple' as fast as you can. And you look at me like 'See, Mom? I TOLD you 'apple' only had one syllable.' And if you could roll your eyes, you so would.
You also like to spell. You've gotten quite good at spelling certain words (Natalie, Daddy, Mommy, dog, cat). You get very, um, creative, when it comes to spelling other words. Take 'Ita' for instance (Ita, in case you've forgotten is the name of your imaginary friend. She's sometimes a girl, sometimes an animal. Sometimes she's 5 and short, sometimes she's 8 and tall. She's hard to keep up with, that Ita). This is the latest way you spell 'Ita': Eldzwrfjiuktmasqhg. This darn English language and its silent 'e' and silent 'l' and silent 'd' and silent 'z' and silent 'w' and silent 'r' and silent 'f' and silent 'j' and silent 'u' and silent 'k' and silent 'm' and silent 's' and silent 'q' and silent 'h' and silent 'g'.
You're beginning to realize what life is like with a sibling. For the first six months of his life, Charlie didn't do much (besides the obligatory eat, sleep, and poop). And you thought it was fabulous. But now? While Charlie's not fully mobile yet, he can definitely grab things. And those things? They're the most important things EVER and you can't BEAR the thought of him touching them so you SCREECH and YANK things from his hand for FEAR that he'll somehow RUIN your things by LOOKING at them, let alone TOUCHING them. This is SERIOUS, Momma. Quit LAUGHING. I know, I know. Sharing your toys with a lump who only eats, sleeps, and poops is easy. Sharing your toys with a former lump who is now a reaching, grabbing, slobbering, ball of big-headed-brother is a different story. Better get used to it, sista. Because this brother of yours? He thinks the sun rises and sets on you. I can't blame him. You ARE pretty awesome. And awesome people don't screech and yank. So let's work on that, shall we?
When Daddy comes home from work at night, you run into his arms and ask him "Are you going to stay with me for a yong, yong [long, long] time?" Seriously. I couldn't make up something that cute if you paid me a million dollars. To answer your question, yes, Daddy will stay with you for a yong, yong time. I will, too. Hope that's okay. If not, too bad. Daddy and I are kind of a match set.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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