It's been another strange and busy week. Sick kids, sick husband, lots of deadlines at work, snowstorms and freezing temperatures. And that lovely combination of elements brings me to my topic today. A few days ago, I had the distinct pleasure of taking my one-year-old to the pediatrician. He had just woken up in time for us to make the appointment, so I took him in his pjs. Another mother came in moments later with her little boy, also clad in a sleeper. We smiled politely.
My son was perched in my lap, not quite sure about this other kid. "How old is he?" asked the other mom. "Oh, um, about 17 months", I said, "How old is your little boy?"
"Gabey will be 27 months on Saturday!" she said. I forced a smile. Give it up woman, your kid is TWO. I had to spend another twenty minutes in the waiting room with them, and Max just watched as little Gabey played with the toys, his mother practically jumping off the bench every time he uttered a word in anything that resembled English. "Oh, Gabey, you said car! Car! Mama's so proud! Mama loves you! I love you so much!" I smiled to myself, since my 17-month-old had superior language skills to someone almost a year older. That's right, I'm raising a genius.
And then, I heard this, which I found rather disturbing, "Is that your tongue? Come here! Come here and let Mama kiss that tongue!" WHAT?! It was at that point that the nurse called us back and I thanked God.