Colton is in a blissfully frustrating time at 18 months. He understands, “Want to brush your teeth? Take a bath? Stack blocks?” He runs to said item and is ready to brush, wash or stack.
Soon he’ll be talking for real. Before that happens, I still like to imagine his thoughts:
Wait, have I awoken? Yes. I’m still behind the bars of this bed. I shall make shrill sounds that force that tall one to come into my room.
Ah. Hello, tall, haggard one. I’ll be quiet now. Wait. Let me collect three blankets and my paci before you pick me up.
Fine. I’ll sit with you.
Why would you deign to thrust this small car in my hands?
Wait. Are your eyes still closed? Ugh. I’ll go entertain myself.
I see a sippy cup under a chair. Four days of bacterial build up. Deeeee-lish.
Tall, neglectful one? Take this sippy cup.
Wait, are you standing up?
Blocks? Oh, fine. I’ll indulge your silly obsession with stacking blocks.
Oh, tall, uninspiring one, it’s hilarious how you roll your eyes every time I cry. Even when you ignore me, I see you tense up. Rest assured, I’ll stand open-mouthed, dry-eyed and crying until you pick me up. See how easy I am?
Here comes brother. What is in his hand? A train? A cookie? A dust bunny? No matter.
I’ll take that, thank you very much.
Ah, the wind through my hair delights me as I run away from brother who goes bananas when I steal whatever’s in his hand. Such freedom, such joy, such…
Wait! You pushed me and took it back?
Oh, really? You push me? Really?
Aaaand the tall, exasperated one picks me up, again.
Here: read this book.
No, tall, imbecilic one, not the book I just handed you, the one over there on the floor. Why would you think I want you to read me the book I handed you? What are you? An idiot?
Let’s stop reading books. I want to turn around in your lap. Put my foot here, here…oh, HERE is the spot that makes you wince.
Mwahaha, you make me laugh when you say “No.” It’s such a funny sounding word. And your face contorts in ridiculous ways. “No! Colton, no!”
I think I shall say it now, “No!” Oh, that titillates me. “No! No! No!” I shall make it my mantra.
Now…I’ll go to…the dog food pantry. I love banging doors. Such power.
Let’s see: Cans, treats, doggy toothbrush. Feels good in my mouth as I walk.
Huzzah! My favorite cavern is open for playtime: the toilet bowl. I’ll rinse the doggy toothbrush to watch the water shimmer. I’ll brush, again. Tasty and textured on my gums. Now, I’ll close and climb on top to play in the sink. Quick! I know the tall, impatient one will come all too soon to grab me and close the toilet lid with one foot as he rips the toothbrush out of my hand.
I do not appreciate such abrupt ending to my shenanigans.
A car? You distract with a car? Fie on you, father.
Blocks? Pht. They’re so three hours ago.
Hell, no, I do not desire a sippy cup, right now. You insult me!
Seriously. I don’t want the sippy cup.
Oh, you think you can put me down and walk away and that will solve my diva fit? I don’t think so, feeble tall one.
I cry and toddle after you with increasing volume.
Now you’re sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor with your head in your hands? I believe I have defeated you, again.
I recall the score is currently 274 to 3.
I shall come stand on your crossed shins, grab onto your shirt and wail in your face until you give me a cracker.
Oh, an iPhone? That’ll do.