the wave

The boy says “Hi” all the time now. He says it with a little inflection. And a smile. Sometimes he sounds southern. Always he sounds like he’s flirting, a touch mischievous.

He says it to women pretty much wherever we go. In stores, cafes, etc. He says it to me mid-nursing, he says it during meals, he says it when I’m working on my laptop while he’s playing with toys nearby. To get my attention. “Hiiiii.”

Today he added a wave. The hand is palm up, fingers curling inward. Clutch clutch. Hiiiiii.

He also says “Bye.” Always, always long enough after the person has left so that they don’t hear it. He says it in a higher voice, with an upward lilt, I think imitating me a bit.

“Bai?”

Today we went to mom-toddler yoga for the first time in months. Nap battles and sheer laziness having kept us away. Jonah reeeally impressed the caregivers with his wide vocabulary. I bragged like crazy. Unabashedly, unapologetically announced in a room of maybe ten people. “He has 40 words.” I said it twice.

Brag brag brag.

Oh well.

Today I remembered about Elbow. We haven’t mentioned it since New Mexico. I pulled up my shirt sleeve and pointed the joint at him. The smile that dawned across his face — such delight! — remembering… does he remember the long car ride? His cowboy grandmother?

“Bow!” he shouted, proudly.

In other news, we’ve had three days of midday naps. That’s pretty nifty.

And we’ve instituted occasional EC moments each day. The babysitter pulled it off first last week, holding him over the toilet after his bath. I was both proud and jealous.

I’ve held him and made the psssssssss sound at least once a day for the last three days. (Did all the times we said it when he peed all over the changing table a billion times a day as an infant make any impression? That’s pretty much the majority of our EC efforts to date.)

We have a whole conversation. Do you want to go peepee in the potty? No. I hold him over the toilet anyway. He sits on the edge. I make the sound. He makes it back at me, thppp-p-p-psssss and laughs. And then he pees. Or not. And if he doesn’t, after a few minutes we move on.

Asking him isn’t necessarily indicative of anything. He’s started saying “no” even when it isn’t true. (Poor guy. This is it, the time I truly blog his bowel movements…) I’ll see him straining, making that little half-smile face, his skin turning pink with the exertion, accompanied by a little grunting, and I’ll say, “Are you pooping?” and he shakes his head. Nope. Not me. No poop here. La deee dah.

Or rather, Doodleoodleooo.