I've been blogging almost entirely about this pregnancy and I feel guilty about that... Monkey is still awesome and brilliant and perfect in every way.
He had a pretty giant speech delay, probably thanks to his birthmom's drug use during pregnancy. Lately, his language has exploded. He is now considered low-average for speech. I just LOVE listening to him talk. I love having conversations with him.
Recently, Mark went on a 10-day cruise with his girlfriend. Our conversation that morning:
"Where Daddy go?"
"Daddy went on his big trip, remember?"
"Yeah! Daddy onna biiiiiig trip. Daddy onna boat. Daddy on da water. Daddy go Bamamas."
This conversation repeated nearly every morning.
While he was with me, a giant rainstorm came and water seeped into the basement. There is a wood burning furnace down there, so I had to go down about 3 times a day to feed the beast. Monkey usually went with me. As the water started to recede, he asked, "Mama? Where da water go?" Instead of giving him some cop-out answer, I told him the truth: "The water evaporated." The next time we went, when there was even less water, he told me, "Mama. Da water evapopated more!" He is brilliant.
He has recently put together two phrases that every 2 year old should have: "I don't like dat," and "I don't want to." They still crack me up.
Sometimes, when we ask him to stop doing something, he looks at us like a 12-year-old and says, "okaaaay."
Lately, the roads have been slick. Mark lives at the top of a very steep driveway... Today, as we were coming down, the car slipped a bit and wiggled around sideways. Monkey flipped out, yelling "No! No fall down in Mama's car!" He doesn't have a word for wrecking a car. The closest he can equate it to is falling down. Love it.
He's finally learned names. "What's my name?" I ask him. "Mama." I point to Mark, "What's his name?" "Daddy." "Good job, Monkey. What's YOUR name." "I Zayber." Totally.
Okay, I'm off to bed. J has been in Phoenix since yesterday. I just got off the phone with him... He's driving back, bringing the car that shall be mine. He decided I simply had to stop driving my beat up Escort and drive a 5600 pound hunk of steel and airbags. I'm not arguing much. But I am ready to have him home already...