The transfer is always hard--the part of a
visit where both grandmas drive to a midpoint in Indianapolis and
transfer the grandson.
This time I was on the giving side, saying
goodbye in the parking lot of Starbucks and leaving quickly with little
more than a grande coffee and a few broken animal cookies in a circus
box.
There was no chattering from the backseat
during my drive home--the only sounds being the rattles from my car,
which I worry may be ominous but tend to ignore, and the occasional
voice of Rush Limbaugh as I searched for radio stations to distract me. I
wasn't in the mood for outrage and kept searching until I found an
appropriate sound track for my tears.
He turned 18 months old this visit, an age
that found him mimicking and adding new words at a pace rivaling how
quickly I now forget them.
He arrived with just the basics--Mommy, Daddy, Abbey (his dog) and cookie.
I got blamed for that last one. He went
home from my last visit saying it loud and clear. And so often that Alex visualized all my meals void of the fruits and vegetables that
she had requested--a pile of cookies forming his sole food group.
I did better this time. He was transfered
with a vocabulary of useful words like "up" and "down" and "train" and
"truck" and "bus" and "cheese." And "achoo," which could come back to
haunt me since his version sounds a little too much like asshole. Time
will tell.
We enjoyed a few new treats too. Like ice cream. But I'm a quick learner. I never once used the word. He just says, "mmm, mmm good."
And he says "nemaw," his version of grandma.
Mmm, mmm, good, indeed.
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