Skip to main content

Hangnails

Talking with a toddler is many things: it's like negotiating with a violent drunk, talking with an emotional overstrung stage actor with a 5 word vocabulary, and like having a conversation with a pathological liar who changes their mind every 1-3 seconds. One is never quite sure if what your toddler is saying has any basis in reality, or just random misfirings meant to frustrate you to no end.

Example:
"Owlet, you want some crackers?"
"No tracters!"
"Kay"
"ME TRACTERS! ME TRACTERS" *on the verge of tears*
"You want crackers?"
*Hand out, emphatically* "NO!"

So, communication is often on eggshells. Emotionally explosive little people with almost no vocabulary make every day a nightmare in linguistic interpretation and non-verbal communication. I mean, uh, a joy of finally 'reaching' your child and responding to their emotional and spiritual needs.

Uh huh.

What this all leads to is a deep, deep suspicion of anything and everything Owlet says. I mean, she doesn't even know what she wants, why should I? When she speaks, she might be telling me something, or she might just like the sound of the word "Super Store".

So one night, when I'm prepping her for bed, she says "OWIE", and points to her foot. Now, she said this earlier in the day, so I think, well, this isn't just a random brain firing, this is could be linked to reality. Another part of me is wary. Maybe she's just learned another technique to horse around and avoid going to bed. Maybe this is code for "Actually, I'm really quite HUNGRY". The possibilities are endless.

I pick up her foot, and look at it (I had looked at it earlier in the day, too actually, but could see nothink!). Now, under the floodlights of the bathroom, I can see she has a hangnail.

AHA!

There's very few things as satisfying as cutting a hangnail off your child's toe. It's easy, it's full of mystery for the child ("WHAT DAT DADA? DAT?!" aah the nail-clipper), and you immediately take away the owie. And I find myself projecting Owlet's memories in these tiny actions. That this simple act of Dada taking away the owie will further solidify our bond, another brick in a little house we're building, one I'd like to call "Oh Please Oh Please I Hope I'm Not The Reason You're In Therapy".

I can't say I look forward to the days when she's completely verbal, when she's able to enunciate exactly what's wrong with her, in increasingly sophisticated terms, about problems that I can't begin to understand, let alone solve.

Comments

Kim said…
I never would've understood this post before I babysat 3 toddlers a week ago. (The first time I ever interacted with kids on my own, so, learning curve).

Now, I sympathize with you to the max.

At least I got to return the kids at the end of the evening.
Chris B. said…
I heard an interesting suggestion that children are the greatest scientists of all. Since they are completely objective as a newborn, they are testing with every touch, utterance, taste, smell, etc. As they get older and more experienced, the testing becomes more advanced and specific.

The thing is, you're just like anything else in their little scientific brain - a thing to be dealt with and to test. You just happen to be there more than most other things.
Anonymous said…
@ Chris: Yes! I think this is exactly right. They are hardwired to behave in random ways, and then they evaluate the results of their behavior over time, to learn to get what they want.

I too, think about my child's future therapy sessions...and how I want to be spoken of therin.

Popular posts from this blog

Insults From A Senile Victorian Gentleman

You SIR, have the hygeine of an overly ripe avocado and the speaking habits of a vaguely deranged chess set. I find your manner to be unctuous and possibly libelous, and whatever standard you set for orthodontal care, it's not one I care for. Your choice in news programs is semi-literate at best and I do believe your favourite news anchor writes erotic literature for university mascots. While I'm not one to point out so obvious a failing, there has been rumour that the brunches you host every other Sunday are made with too much lard and cilantro. If you get my meaning. There is something to be said about your choice of motor-car fuel, but it is not urbane and if I were to repeat it, mothers would cover their children's ears and perhaps not a few longshoremen within earshot would blush. How you maintain that rather obscene crease in your trousers and your socks is beyond me, perhaps its also during this time that you cultivate a skin regime that I'm sure requires the dea

Learn A New Thing...

Man, you really do learn a new thing everyday. There have been a few shocking realizations I've had over the past month or so: -bizaare is spelled bizarre (how bizaare) -scythe is pronounced "sithe", not the phonetic way. Which is the way I've been pronouncing it in my head for my whole life. My entire youth spent reading Advanced Thresher Sci-Fi and Buckwheat Fantasy novels, for naught! -George Eliot was a woman, real name Mary Ann Evans. -Terry Gilliam is American. -Robocop is a Criterion Film. I shit you not . -Uhm, oh damn, just after I post this, I find that, this movie is a Criterion film as well . Maybe I don't know what being a Criterion film really entails.. Alright all (three) readers of my blog, post and lemme know some earth shattering facts you've learned recently.

Europe : London Maritime Museum - March 15th

I've never, well I suppose most people don't either, thought of myself as a flat. Despite the fact I rarely go anywhere. Despite the fact that, given my shut in lifestyle I have about as much street smarts as, well, a middle aged programmer who rarely goes out.  But I am a flat, entirely. First step is admitting I have a problem.  On our way to the bus station, and at NO time did I sense any of this, or even have a sense of anyone being very close to me, both the zippers in my bag were opened, and my rather nice down jacket was nicked. Shameful, I know. But, I suppose, bravo on the thiefs, I didn't feel a thing. And well, I suppose we are going to Italy, so, less to pack? It was a certain jet of anger, I suppose, and befuddlement. But I also was so very thankful I had not lost my wallet and/or phone, both which would require hours and hours of hassle and phone calls to set me to rights.  It might be my stoic optimism is a source of my lack of street smarts. But I'm also