Bad Mama

I am a bad mama. I don't notice when Davy does new things. That's not true. I do notice. I point it out to Joe, and usually I mention it to whomever I see around that time. But then I promptly forget, it never gets mentioned in a baby book, and I don't make connections.

Case in point. I don't know what Davy's first word was. If you have met Davy, especially before he started saying words, you might know why. He "talked" nonstop. All the time. He still does. And sometimes it's hard to tell what is words as we know them and what is his own language.

Second example. Davy is using sentences. This shouldn't be a surprise either. If he's babbling all the time, and his babbles have inflection to the point people think he really is talking and try to figure out what that crazy toddler just said, it's only natural that he would quickly move to sentences. But I didn't notice that he was using sentences. Well, I did. But I didn't connect what he was saying with, "Oh, he just used a sentence!" Maybe I'm too laid back. An English teacher is supposed to know when her child uses sentences.

At this point you are probably wanting to know what this magical sentence was. Well, it has happened repeatedly (had to or I wouldn't have noticed), so it isn't a fluke. Davy says a word, or I say a word. Then a minute or two later, Davy say, "You said 'blank'." Usually he's very pleased with himself. Sometimes it's "I said 'blank'." Fill in "blank" with whatever word we just said. He also is trying to tell us what happened a few minutes before, but he's missing some words, so it comes out a mixture of signs, gestures, and words. Some real words, some Davy words. For example, he hits his head. We saw him hit his head, comforted him, then a minute or two later, he points the furniture he hit his head on, starts babbling, says "hurt," and touches his head. Real words are usually mixed in, but it's hard to decipher so I usually forget which ones.

Oh, and his top eye teeth are popping through. The bottom ones are close. I hope that explains the weird sleep lately.

Maybe I'm not so much a bad mama as a forgetful mama. But it feels like I'm a bad mama. There aren't any neat scrapbooks for Davy. Not even a filled out baby book. Only this blog. Without this blog, there would be nothing. Oh, well. He's a boy. Maybe he won't notice. And don't you dare tell him.