All of my boys have been late talkers. Connor, at three and a half, is just now becoming the chatterbox that most kids start to become around age two. The twins, at just a little over two, have maybe five words between them. I can remember a time when I wished Connor would talk, just as much as I know wish the twins would start speaking. Because they are as routinely quiet as he is constantly loud.
Perhaps I should be careful what I wish for, at any rate. Connor was gone all of last week. And though I'm sure I noticed the difference in chatter some then, I can certainly notice it now that he's back. He never stops talking. Whether it's in trying to learn new words or phrases he hears on Sesame Street, or whether he's talking to keep himself awake, or just to even hear himself talk - he just simply never stops. And after having a little break, I'm having to work my way back up to a tolerance and patience level that I've lost in his absence.
Take today, for instance. It is Monday, so I had the kids strapped into seats to watch a Pixar movie so I could vacuum and wash the floors downstairs. The entire time, from the moment I began, all I heard was "Mommy cleanin' Buster's room!" An odd phrase in and of itself, I know, but one that he now routinely associates with the blue bucket I use to wash. You see, it's the same one I use to clean up Buster's room when it gets muddy during the rainy season. So Connor thinks that's what I'm doing any time I use it.
And it would be cute, the first few times I heard it. But after hearing it about fifty times in the span of five minutes (literally, just one after the other until he needed to stop and breathe), it got a little old and Mommy was ready to scream. This is when I remember my wonderful iPod, and tune him out for the last hour.
He's wondering if Grandma is ready to have him back, I'm sure. Grandma would never do such a thing!
