Dr. No

Baby C has entered into quite the "No" phase as of late. I say 'phase' because the potential of this intense need to reject every person, place or thing in his general vicinty lasting forever is too exhausting to consider. Thing is, the word doesn't leave his lips as "No." It's: "Naaaaaaaaahhhhhooh." As in,

Me: "Would you like some milk?"
C: "Naaaaaahhhhooooh."
Me: "Would you like to go outside?"
C: "Naaaahhhhhhoooh." (stomps feet).
Me: "Are you sleepy?"

C: "Naaaahhooooooh!" (arm flapping).

Me: "Do you want to play with your toy? Mummy's cell phone? Daddy's wallet? The dog water?? Anything?"

C: "Nah, nah, nah, nah...Naaaaaahooooooh!!!!" Aaannnd...that about does it. Commence tantrum and the inevitable throwing of all things that are either not screwed to the floor or light enough to catapult (*BABY C SMAAAASSHH!*)

So, we're at a bit of an impass. Among the vast number of things I thought I would just inherit as a maternal talent but somehow missed out on is the ability to competently read my son's wants/needs. He's a hell of a talker - just not in any language I'm proficient at speaking or understanding. I hear "Mama", "Daddy," "Doggy," "Yeah" (which at the moment is only induced at the prospect of a cupcake), "Jacket", "Cat" and the ever popular "Naaaaaahhoooh!" but am apparently lacking the keen ear to appreciate the rest of what he's saying. G and I have picked up on a few other key terms..my personal favorite being an emphatic "NNNaaaahhh-nnnneeeeeeey" which I interpret to mean "IIIIII nnnneeeeeeeed". As in, "Nah-neey a cookie". "Nah-neey you to bugger off so I can unravel the entire toilet paper roll in peace" and "Nah-neey all of my trucks. In one giant pile. Where I can play with them all at once. And Nah-neey you to play with one too (just not my favorite one or nah-neey you to damn well give it back)". Of cousre, C's daycare provider seems to think he's speaking in complete sentences with a Merriam-Webster worthy vocabulary. I'll be standing there listening to C babbling away and she'll say "See? He just said 'Matthew did it'" and I heard "Maboo giggidy". But kudos to him for calling out another kid for something.

To add insult to injury, I'm fairly certain that C delights in messing with me. He'll offer me something, let's say a cracker, and say "Mama" while flashing that spectacular grin - I'll eagerly reach out to receive my cheddar gift only to have him stuff it into his mouth and laugh. This is a recurring game. A game only trumped by C's newest endeavor: making up baby sign language. He's learned to sign "All done" and "Please" with a vengence (and I'm loving that he signs please, which is one hand in a circular motion over the chest, with both hands simultaneously if he really wants something). But lately a few more signs started emerging...that I didn't know. One in particular got me - he reaches out with one hand to show his index finger and with his other hand he grabs the index finger then points away. I spent over an hour googling this sign to figure out what he was SO DESPERATELY trying to tell me over and over and over and over to no avail. G came by, saw C perform his sign, and said "it means 'POOP'".

Me: "It doesn't mean poop. You think everything means poop."

G: "I saw it on that movie with Ben Stiller and Robert DeNiro."

Me: "Seriously? You're basing your opinion on a movie? How dumb is that? Look - it doesn't mean poop. I think it means 'out' or 'go'."

G: "Where'd you get that?"

Me: "Project X."

G: "And what's project X."

Me: Silence.

G: "It's a movie, isn't it?"

Me: Yes.

So, having our competing opinions of poop and out/go, I approached C's daycare provider with the question. She watched carefully as I recreated the sign. "Yeah, I have no idea. That's not a sign." C looked up at us, smiled wide, and walked away. Not a sign. How could it not be a sign? He'd been doing it ALL WEEKEND with emphasis. So, he's either making up his own language or messing with me. I suspect the latter. Either way - I still have little to no idea what he's saying a good portion of the time - which is clearly a frustration for us both. So much so that C's "No" phase is leading it's merry way down the anger path into tantrums.

Upon the onset of a tantrum I follow the handbook and assure him that I understand that he's frustrated, that I'm listening and I'm trying to understand, encourage him to use his words...and increasingly tell him that hitting hurts. I want to to a PBA on "Hitting Hurts". Because it does. And I think the dog would agree with me. We've both received our share of toddler whacks over the last few days (but thank God above that I have managed to avoid the eye poking and butt poking that our poor dog has endured). I suppose it's a lesson in mankind's inherently violent nature (I choose to lean in that direction rather than consider the very early onset of teenage angst). So whenever C belts out his patented "Naaaaahoooooh!" and comes at me with an open palmed slap I gently stop the blow mid smack-down and try to redirect him. Generally within a minute the tantrum has subsided and I get a hug/kiss and the promise of a cheddar bunny cracker (which may or may not actually result in cheddar bunny cracker). My favorite is when he insists on sitting on my lap and snuggling with me, which is a frequent occurence, particularly while enjoying a glass of milk or reading a book. So my heart officially shattered into a zillion fragments when last night we encountered the worst bout of the NNaaaahhoooohh's I'd ever seen - Naaahhhooohh through dinner, Naahoooh through story time, Naaahhoooh through diaper change, lights out and bedtime kisses (which were like trying to wrangle a greased pig). He didn't even want his obnoxious, fratty 'bedtime' truck to sleep with. He wanted to be alone. And so I laid him down in his crib and he rolled over and closed his eyes. I wanted to instill upon him the importance of not going to bed angry and, hey, why not throw in there honoring thy father and thy mother...but was dragged out of his bedroom by G who patted me on the head, handed me a glass of wine and said "Welcome to my world" and held me as I bawled into his shoulder.

I was prepared for C to have a 'Mommy phase', where Daddy was public enemy number 1 (except, of course, when it came to tossing him in the air, tickles and generally doing goofy things to make him laugh...sort of a familial court jester). I was not prepared for the 'I don't like anybody right now phase' which lasted all last night and into this morning. I was near tears this morning as I dropped him at daycare and watched as C scampered off for time with friends without so much as a glance back...and as I skulked towards the door to head to work felt my heart scotch tape itself back together as he reappeared from around the corner and ran over with gusto to give me a big, drooly smooch. A moment later he was gone again - but it was enough to remind me that we aren't always going to understand each other. We aren't always going to communicate effectively. And we definitely aren't always going to see eye to eye...but I will always be his Mama. And he will always. always. always. be my little boy - purveyor of all things "No" and the sweetest kisses on the planet.