My dog is small, a perpetual puppy, and he doesn't mind all the gobbledigook babytalk that comes out of my mouth. Small creatures tend to bring that out in me.
My eldest son, the Doctor of Nuclear Engineering, accepted this for a short while. I remember the time. I remember the exact spot I was standing when this changed. As I was gazing adoringly at my 3 month old baby boy, we locked eyes. He distinctly told me that he loved me but that he needed the facts (not my baby talk please.)
I changed and had a blast introducing him to the world of wondrous things with no baby talk allowed. I still sang to him, of course, which he always loved.
This whimsical black sheep, educated career waitress, broke singer/songwriter, Peter Pan, Captain of the Ship, Pied Piper mother, is no rocket scientist, but I raised one. I surely did.
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