Remember how excited I was when BigBrother’s vocabulary started exploding? And how I pushed him to talk about everything? And how he really never shuts his mouth? Yeah. Well. It’s gotten worse. I mean, it’s good. He’s forming sentences and making logical connections. But ugh. The newest addition?
“I don’t want…”
In the past twenty-four hours, for example, I have heard: I don’t want lay down. I don’t want nap. I don’t want pee. I don’t want eat. I don’t want crackers. I don’t want clean toys. I don’t want get dressed. I don’t want sit down. I don’t want stand up. I don’t want bath. I don’t want out tub. I don’t want brush teeth. I don’t want underwear. I don’t want pants. I don’t want shirt. I don’t want books. I don’t want no books! I don’t want Noggin. I don’t want milk. I don’t want water. I don’t want brother. I don’t want was.
The last one? “I don’t want was?” It’s kind of funny.
BigBrother: It’s raining.
FireDad: Well, it’s not now. It was raining.
BigBrother: It’s raining!
FireDad: No, it was raining. It’s past tense.
BigBrother: IT’S RAINING!
FireDad: It was raining!
BigBrother: I DON’T WANT WAS! IT IS RAINING!
I don’t want was. Gotcha, Caps Lock Boy!
It’s aggravating. Because? I don’t want “I don’t want.” I don’t want him to say it. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want it to be happening. Apparently, there’s a lack of wanting around these parts. And I’m at a loss.
I tried telling him that’s not nice to say. But really, he’s just trying to tell me what he does and does not want and isn’t that the point of language anyway? Communicating? But ugh! He thinks that because he says it with his mouth, it should be so! Kind of like when he says “please.” Please should make everything magically happen in his favor, no? And, therefore, “I don’t want” should make the “bad” go away. Awful, horrid things like naps and pants and vegetables. What an awful mother I am.
And so, I’m trying to explain to a two year old that sometimes we don’t get what we want and sometimes we do stuff that we don’t want to do. And he thinks I’ve flipped my lid. He gives me dirty looks. He pouts. He cries. He throws toys (which warrants a trip to the Naughty Chair). And eventually he forgets what it was that he didn’t want. Until I try to remind him to pee in the potty or convince him that it’s time to come inside to wash the dirty from under his fingernails. And then he reminds me that he doesn’t want anything. Ever. In CAPS LOCK VOICE.
I want a nap. Such is life, Bubba.