Our daughter is only two but she does have an impressive vocabulary. In two languages. And of course most of the things that come out of her mouth are extraordinarily cute. But some of them are not. Well, maybe they were cute the first time she said them but now they’re really really not. They just make the day seem twice as long as it actually is. And it was quite long to begin with. These are the things my 2-year-old says that make me count the hours until bedtime:
“I want slide”. This doesn’t mean a normal slide like the one at the park (the one that has other children on it). This means a human slide made out of my legs and it requires me to sit on a chair in a very painful position while she slides down my legs again and again. I have no idea why she likes it so much. It is very very slow and the ride ends with a bump to the floor when I spread my legs out in an attempt to discourage her from the game. Sadly this has only made her like it more.
“Get up, mummy”. I hear these words at around 5am while two little hands pull at my arm. And I know that this relatively polite request will grow into hysterical screaming within about 30 seconds unless I force my tired body out of bed. And no, dear friend with no children, I cannot just put the TV on and go back to bed.
“I want aeroplane”. These words will also turn into an epic meltdown when I have to explain that we can’t pick the aeroplane out of the sky. Or the birds. Or the sun.
“Again!”. This is usually said after I have foolishly swung her around and/or simulated a rocket shooting her up towards the ceiling at a ridiculous speed. She will demand me to do this over and over until I collapse on the floor with a broken back and breathing difficulties. This reminds me, I should really start teaching her how to dial 999.
“Sing, Mummy!”. We’ve got this classic Danish song book which consist of 15 wonderful Danish children’s songs from my childhood and 119 other old songs which I have absolutely no idea how the melodies go. But that doesn’t stop her wanting me to sing them. So what I have to do is just make the melodies up as I go along. If I try to read them out as poems, she will promptly correct me with a stern “Sing, mummy!”. So I sing while trying not to let it show how much I want to kill myself.
“You’re heavy, mummy”. Give me a break! It’s only been two years since I gave birth. And after a whole day of swinging you around the front room and picking biscuit crumbs out of a fluffy rug, I deserve that box of Thorntons Delicious Dark Favourites!
I’d love to hear which of your children’s phrases you hate the most.