Fresh eyes

Since Ethan started picking up words, we are busy figuring out if he is asking for that something or just chatting about it.  At first, we were too quick to assume that he was just babbling away, but we've realised that often he's seen something we haven't.  A few weeks ago at tesco, I was loading him into a trolley.  He's chatting away, 'Bird. Bird. Bird.'  I shot a glance around the parking lot, looking for a pigeon or magpie loitering.  But he's pointing upwards.  Does he see one in the trees?  But then I see, in the direction of his tiny pointed finger, a small picture of a pigeon on the trolley shed.  Eagle eyes.  

And so, we've started to question him less and less when he gets out the pointy finger and starts declaring 'Puppy!' 'Star!' 'Bubble!' Or whatever catches his eye.  He notices the smallest details on shirts and pictures.  Things that we've never noticed before or would have missed.  

It's very sweet, his fascination with the things he's learning about.  For instance, this evening, I rushed in after a late running train delayed me, for a quick baby handover as Thom shot off to the tattoo studio.  Ethan was showing me his keys, when he stopped cold and stared at my ears.  He spotted some earrings he'd not seen before.  He gently reached out and touched them, saying, 'Oh, wow!' And then carried on playing. 

It's a great thing to see.  Humbling as we realise how profound an effect the small things have on his world.  And also to see how much we miss in the things around us.  Our perspective is limited.  Age and experience teach us that we can ignore much of what goes on around us and we miss lots of wonderful stuff.  The kinds of stuff that has Ethan exclaiming, 'oh wow!'.

I want to be able to reclaim a bit of that fresh perceptive.  Where everyday things like keys and wooden spoons are appreciated as the musical instruments they can be.  Where nothing is quite so wonderful as a juicy blueberry, a singing bird or a vacant slide at the park.  

I also think about how dismissive people can be of the child's perspective, confusing a lack of knowledge with stupidity.  As though a child's perspective doesn't count because they don't get it.  I'm becoming convinced that sometimes children get it, and we hardened, blinkered adults are the ones missing the point.  Ethan doesn't know about the practicalities of life, like rent and pensions and petrol prices.  But he does understand the important stuff, like hugs and imagination and beauty in little things.  I want a bit more of that myself.

Word up, Dude: The little man speaks

Watching Scooby Do with a teething little man yesterday morning.  Just up from his nap, he was grumpy and leaning into me, with one wary eye at the TV screen.  Scooby Do scrambles into frame and Ethan exclaims, 'Oh dude!'.

tubby time is a favourite time for the word 'duck'

And so recent news from the mamatastic world is words.  We realise now how much Thom uses 'oh dude' and exclamation for exciting events.  Could be worse, and I suppose we have taken it as a warning to initiate language clean up procedures.  

Some days he seems to pick up and throw back every one syllable word he hears.  Shoe, duck, this, rock, bear.  He also seems to store some away, like a secretive sponge, to use later.  

And then there are all the actions he copies.  When I'm in the kitchen, he likes to get into the cupboards with the pots and pans.  He pretends to stir and taste, just like a proper chef.

copying mama's antics at CrossFit

The other day, he seemed really hungry.  He had double lunch portions at nursery and later ate all his dinner and some of mine.  After story time, I asked him if he wanted a biscuit.  He peeked up and said, 'Cake!' (We had been given some lovely cake the week before and he set about the house in a knee-shuffle, cake in hand, chanting 'cake, cake, cake, cake', leaving a trail of crumbs behind).  

I said, 'How about biscuit?'

'Bis-cake!' he said, beaming with anticipation.  And then, something happened that I am going to claim as a first sentence.

'Peas, bis-cake!' he pleaded, making the baby-sign for 'please'.  How could I resist?  He was given a whole shortbread, when normally I would give half, just because it was good moment.  By the time we reached cupboard where the biscuits are kept, he was using two hands to ask for the biscuit.

'Mmmm, cake!'

Dad was also excited to hear about the bis-cake.  The next day I was in London seeing clients all day, leaving Dad to see just what a big talker his little man had become.  I noticed that all but one bis-cake was gone when I returned.