My daughter, beautiful and funny and cheeky as she is, is five and a half and therefore does not make the amusing mistakes our son makes with pronunciation and comprehension. For this reason this post focuses mainly on our three year old boy.
Yesterday he was telling me that his hoodie was getting scruntious and scruntious. Not sure what that means, but it made me laugh anyway.
He managed to pull down one of the slats of the vertical blinds (not for the first time) yesterday. He wrapped it around his waist and over his shoulder in a Romanesque way and announced “when I wrap this round me I’m the queen of the poos, THE QUEEN OF THE POOS”.
We all particularly enjoy his pronunciation of certain words, I am loathe to correct him. In order to free myself from any guilt from not correcting him I am convincing myself that I am just protecting his self-esteem and that he will learn from listening to us. In all honesty, it’s funny, I like funny. Maybe I need to grow up a little. Anyway…
Word: sponge
My boy: scrunge
Word: fingers
My boy: stingers
Word: living room
My boy: wivving woom
Word: look
My boy: wook
Lately, slightly to my dismay, he has been explaining to us that boys don’t love, only girls love. Boys just like, but boys don’t like girls. So now he officially doesn’t love me. As I carry him to or from the car for the 10th time, or he nuzzles in my neck when he’s tired, or he cuddles me and kisses me and won’t let go at bedtime, or cries when I tell him to behave and wants love and reassurance, I really don’t need for him to tell me he loves me.
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