my little napoleon

He just keeps on talking. He puts together adjectives and nouns now, which Laura says is a very advanced skill.

Waaruh! Cold! Waaruh! Cold. (Water, for those who cannot translate.)

We do a lot of guessing lately. Tonight while I was meditating, I heard Jonah telling Scott, “Tuh-aun-eh,” over and over. And I could tell by the guesses that Scott was trying to figure out first what book, and then what toy Jonah might be referring to.

I added the sound to my mantra and waited. Finally, the mental rolodex card popped into view.

“Train!” I yelled.

“What?”

“I think he was saying train.”

Sure enough. First they played with the pull toy. Then they read the book.

He says crayon, and green (his favorite color?) and mess and tray and hat and brush and comb and hair and pajamas and alphabet and and…

The other night, after his nanny left and we were getting ready for bed, Jonah said “Roun anroun” while waving his fists in an alternating up and down motion in front of his chest. I was heartbroken that I couldn’t figure it out. He was so earnest. “Roun anroun!” And then I realized — I’d overheard her singing “The Wheels on the Bus,” earlier that day. Oh! Round and round. Fortunately, I also remembered hearing her respond to his repeated request for one specific verse, so when, the next day, he started spitting at me and pointing his finger “SHHH SHHH SHHH,” I knew that was my cue to sing the line: “The Daddies on the bus say Shh Shhh Shhh.”

He’s pretty much in charge. I do his bidding.

Out! Down! That! Clap clap clap. Round and round. Man-uh.

The last one is his word for Superman. He’s figured out that he’s allowed to play with the Spiderman toy Scott donated. But Superman? Superman is everywhere in our house, on boxes, glasses, fridge magnets, book covers, not to mention the action figures in their various bookshelves and displays — and Jonah wants him some. He’ll pretend he wants to nurse just so he can stand on my lap and look over my shoulder and point meaningfully (meanacingly) at the collection of S-man ephemera in the bookcase behind the chair where I’m sitting. He seems awfully young to have picked up on my husband’s obsession but there it is. Like father…

Speaking of nursing and words, contrary to previous concerns, he has taken on “Boop” as our word for breast (rather than the slightly less polite Boob), and this weekend he learned how to ask to nurse by saying “Nurt.”

Jonah is learning fast. And he’s verrrrry active.

At dinner last night, in a Mexican restaurant:

“Crack!” Chips? No, chips aren’t for babies. “Crack!” reaches and grabs bowl. I relent, hand him a small chip. It’s sort-of like a cracker. He reaches for the salsa bowl. No, hot! I tell him. Whatever. He reaches for one glass, another. Places his hand in his water glass (see above). Reaches for chips again. “Crack!” I pull out the snacks we’d brought with us. He takes bites of cheese, bites of mango. Half end up sliding back out of his mouth, rejected, onto the floor. His quesadilla with avocado comes. “Cado!” But not this cado. He opens his mouth, lets the green slice fall off his tongue. Similarly treats pieces of cheese and tortilla, after a period of considered sucking of course. Our meals arrive. Reach, grab. We push plates out of the way. He takes some lettuce from my plate. I don’t know if he eats or drops it. I feed him beans. “Beas!” One at a time, smashing each between my fingers to reduce the choking hazard. Open juice box, put in straw. He drinks, also squashing box to spill juice on himself in process. Fine. He points at lights “Liacht! Briyte!” He points at pictures of animals. “Birt!” But then he’s done. “Out! Out! Out!” I take him out of the booster seat, try to nurse him. Not the right answer. I bounce him on my lap and sing “Bumping up and down in my little red wagon,” to kill enough time for us to pay the check before total meltdown.

In the car, driving home, he’s whining. I sing “An Austrian Went Yodeling” and he calms, joins in on the Cuckoos for each verse: Coooo.

I ask him about animal sounds.

What does a cat say? What does a dog say? I run through the list of all the ones I know he knows: Owl, Goose, Rooster, Cow, Lion, Monkey, Duck. It takes a few moments after each question, but out of the dark backseat we hear the answers rise: meow, woof woof woof, whooo, etc.

I’m amazed. I realize he’s been saying them while looking at pictures and stuffed animals. But conceptualizing like that, in response to a verbal question? I hadn’t expected it.

He was calm while I quizzed him, thus cementing what I’ve already been noticing. That all this rapid mental activity has a price tag. He gets bored easily. And bored leads to fussy and fussy can rise to tantrum. Not so fun.

I feel like I’m on the flip side now. When other parents talked about rolling over, and then crawling, and now walking, if I wasn’t feeling neurotic, I’d secretly think to myself, I’ve got it easy. Jonah has repeatedly given me a break, taking his time with the physical milestones.

Now, I’m pretty sure other parents with nice quiet babies are looking at me and thinking, Whoa. You’ve got a handful. Not unlike when he cried and cried, those first three months. Maybe he was bored then too?

Funny to think so.

The thing about witnessing his mental development is that it’s really happening so fast, and it’s so radically different from what he was like before he started talking. And not. But still, it’s like his personality and his acuity just keep… arriving.

It’s tiring, yes. And fun.