At 19 months, something seems to have clicked in Dylan's brain, and he is saying new words at a rapid pace. And to think, that I was worried that he would never talk! Now, I have something else to worry about...The Parrot.
Yesterday, I took Dylan to that horrible store that I only go to when I am desperate - Walmart. He was being such a good little shopper! I would hand him something I wanted to buy, and he would turn and drop it into the cart with much flourish and fanfare. Sometimes, if I picked something up just to look at it, he would grab it out of my hands, and fling it into the cart. Ta-Da! Anyway, one of the families that I used to work for had these cool ice packs that they would put in the girls lunches, in fun shapes, like a star, or an apple, or a crown. The mom told me she bought them at Walmart. I searched everywhere but couldn't find them, so I stopped to ask a guy who was stocking the shelves.
"Excuse me, do you have ice packs that are in kid shapes?"
He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili. "Huh?"
"Do you have ice packs, that are in fun shapes for children?"
"You want something shaped like children?"
I was desperately trying to remain patient. "An ice pack in shapes a kid would like, for their lunch box?"
"What's an H-Pack?" (This was beginning to feel like a drug deal gone wrong, with someone too wacked out to talk to).
My patience finally flew out the window. "ICE! AN ICE PACK!"
Dylan, who had been quietly taking this exchange in, suddenly perked up.
"ICE! ICE! ICE!", he shouted. Up and down the aisles, after that, you could hear him, shouting "ICE!". He didn't just imitate the word I used, he imitated the way I had said it. "ICE!", he said, in that you friekin' moron tone of voice. Oh, boy, I'm in trouble.
Later that evening, Jim came home and started rounding up the garbage to take it down to the street. Dylan and I were outside. Suddenly Jim said "Oh man, Jen, look at this". One of the garbage bags had been put in upside down, and something liquid leaked out into the can. The whole bottom of the can, along with the bag, was covered with maggots. "GROSS!!!" I screamed. Cue the parrot. "GWOSS! GWOSS! GWOSS!"
I really am going to have to watch what I say from now on. Then again, maybe this could work to my advantage. Maybe I can train the parrot to say, "My mommy's a genius. She deserves a book deal. My daddy works really hard, too. He should get a raise".