So Jane has added "uh oh" to her little repertoire of words. This isn't the "I just fell down, but I'm OK" uh-oh, but rather the "I think I'll knock my milk on the floor and pretend it's an accident" kind of uh-oh.
Last night I watched her slowly move her bottle to the edge of the table and then push it over. She then looked up, said "uh-oh," and laughed like crazy.
Unfortunately, what is cute (at least the first 70 or so times) for a 14-month-old is rarely so for a 3-year-old, so Jane not only got away with knocking her milk on the floor but --- and I believe this is the first documented instance --- also helped get her brother in trouble.
Uh-oh, indeed.
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About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
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