My little cherubs are 8 years old now, eight and a half if you ask them, but they used to be tiny and we had to learn on the job how to properly rear them.
Back when they were first learning how to talk, they parroted everything they heard, as most babies do. Logan used to hold his arms up to me and say, “I want me to hold you.”
Totally melted my heart every time I heard it!
Trip would hold up his arms and say, “Hold you.”
My heart would melt with him too.
I played classical music in the car whenever they were with me because the prevailing internet opinion at the time was that classical music helped with brain development. What’s the prevailing opinion now? I have no idea. I finally figured out what worked for us and I no longer bother with trying to find out what the internet says to do about raising them.
One day when they were about 18 months old, I had the boys in the car and I was driving them home from Ed’s office. I had the classical music at a pleasing volume and the climate properly controlled. I was in my baby-brain-growing, earth-Momma element. I was reveling in my effective parenting.
Logan was babbling away. Trip let out the occasional play-scream.
I realize slowly that there was a phrase coming out of Logan’s mouth. I started listening more closely.
“Sonofabitch. Sonofabitch. Sonofabitch,” he said over and over. It’s like he was trying the words on for size.
Realization of what he was saying dawned on me as I pulled into our driveway. The thought that formed in my head was, Son of a bitch, where did he hear that?
Thoughts like that form so fast in your mind that the time it takes to actually to say those words stops them from being said (if you’re lucky). I realized where my little cherub had heard that phrase. He had heard it from me. Parenting awesomeness, indeed.
You can’t explain to a toddler why he can’t say that. I ignored what he was saying and tickled him as I took him into the house. Redirection for that little cherub worked wonders.