Well, my son is now 3. Yep…he’s a big boy now. No more little boy stuff, or baby stuff. No more “Big squeeze, little squeeze”. He’s just tooooo big for some of those silly things. And yet, he seems to be growing into more things. Like his 4t pants! I mean, he just keeps getting taller and taller. Oh, and he has developed the most amazing imagination. You can sit on the floor and play with him and his Chevron cars for 2 hours. REALLY. Just making up stories, talking about life, driving around town, cruising down the strip, asking what your name is and coming up with a different a different name for each car every time.
And there’s this funny thing about pretending to be a dog. With the tongue hangin’ outa the mouth and wanting to eat on the floor and all that. He’s a dog about 20% of his day right now. But right before lunch, he switches into “CAT” mode. There goes the other 59% of his day (he spends about 1% of his day being a little, ahem, I mean big boy).
So as you smile to yourself thinking of how cute it would be to see a 3 year old pretend to be a sweet kitty cat all morning or afternoon, right? My neighbor thinks it’s the funniest thing – my son pretending to be a cute little kitty cat. Well, let me show you a typical conversation with my 3 year old as we wake up in the morning:
“Hey, sweetie! How did you sleep?” I ask.
“Good, meow, good. Thank you meow.”
“Are you ready to get up and eat breakfast?”
“Yes, meow. Meow would like meow milk in meow bowl on the floor, meow”
“Well, let’s first go potty and we’ll talk about the milk on the floor. C’mon, follow me into the bathroom.”
“NOOOOO! Kittiesth don’t go potty in toiletsth!! Kittiesth go potty in BOXTHES!!”
“Well, you are a little boy pretending to be a kitty, and little boys go pee-pee in the toilet.”
“But I’m not a little boy, I a big boy.” (assume the pouty-lip face).
“Ok. Sorry. You are a big boy, and big boys go pee-pee in the potty.”
After using the restroom, we head to the table to have breakfast.
“Meow would like meow milk now pleasth meow.”
“Ok, and what would you like in your milk?”
“Meow kitty oatmeal please, meow.”
After he eats kitty oatmeal and I begin to walk towards him with the washcloth…..
“NOOOOOO! Kittiesth don’t get cleaned up! Kittiesth lick themselvesth like dis! I NO NEED TO BE WIPED!!”
“Yes, kitties lick themselves, but we have come to the understanding that you are a big boy pretending to be a kitty and therefore must agree to be wiped down after eating sticky oatmeal.” (if I throw in a big word or two like that, he furrows his little forehead and thinks about this larger word which gives me 3 seconds of wipe-down time before he scampers off to his room).
I need to head to the fitness center, but 2 minutes before I MUST (I will repeat MUST) be out the door to avoid the train, the little boy walking to the bus stop with his dog who is not leashed, the short bus that I WILL inevitably get stuck behind, so I can get to the gym to get checked in and get my equipment set up before all the good spots and nice weights are taken and so I don’t have to stand up front, (breathe) I go into Mr. B’s room to get him dressed.
“C’mon sweetie! Let’s get dressed so we can go!” (as I enter, I see that my son is completely in the buck).
“NOOOOOO! MOMMA, KITTIESTH DON’T WEAR CLOTHESTH!! THEY DON’T WEAR CHONIESTH! THEY NO WEAR SHIRTSTH LIKE DIS! NO CLOTHESTH! KITTIESTH HAVE NO CLOTHESTH! OH, SHOESTH HURT MY KITTY FEET! OW, OW, OW!! I HAVE CLAWSTH LIKE THIS AND I NEED TO USE THEM TO WALK! NO SOCKSTH, NO SHOESTH, NO CHONIESTH!”
“Oh, I know a coupla kitties who I’ve seen wear clothes.” I calmly say.
One.full.minute. Of complete silence.
“Where? I want to sthee. Who’sth kittiesth wear clothesth? Not MY kittiesth!”
“Nope. Not your kitties. But you are just a little boy pretending to be a kitty, so you must wear clothes so you don’t get cold.”
And thus starts the “little boy” discussion again.
As I start my aerobics class in the very front row, directly to the right of the instructor, in front of the mirrors, with the grimy weights that have the coating peeling off of them, I realize that there are worse things that my son could pretend to be.
I just can’t seem to think of one of them right now.