Cian has developed a lovely new trait: If he wants me, for whatever reason, most likely for a reason I can’t ascertain, he stands at my knees and shouts, “MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM. MOMMOM,” patting my leg with his open palm with each bout of hollering. This is how it usually goes, and it makes no sense:
“Yes, Cian. What do you need?”
“Cian, what do you need? Use your words.”
And so it goes, until I finally drive a pencil into my eardrums to make it stop. I don’t get why he does it. I mean, I know toddlers get frustrated if you don’t understand them. I also see that he hates when my attention is on something else (laundry, the phone, the computer, anythingbuthim), but this is getting out of hand.
“MOM. EE. MOM.”
It’s so funny how, when I was pregnant with each baby, I would dream of the day when my own small child would take my hand, look me in the eyes, and call me “Mom.” I didn’t want to be a “Mommy,” mind you. I was too cool for that (silly Mommy). But “Mom?” I couldn’t wait.
Until the one day I drove a pencil into my eardrums. I love this kid–and, much like it is with his sisters, that love is bigger than I ever thought possible.
At least I never need to wonder if he loves me, too.
Hey. It’s the Tuesday after what has probably been a quiet Memorial Day…
Okay, at this point of quarantine, you’re in one of two camps: #1…