Here’s some stuff that happens to me. *
‘Have you seen my goat?’ Mary runs up to me on the playground furrowing her brow.
‘My goat.’ She says, exasperated with my stupidity, slowing her toddler speech down so my grownup brain might have a better chance at comprehension. ‘Have-you-seen-my-goat.’
‘Uh nope, sorry. No goats today,’ I reply.
‘Oh. Have you seen my sheep?’
‘Nope, no sheep either.’
She runs off towards the slide, blonde ponytails bouncing.
Sally’s next. I watch her walk up to me from the mailbox where we store the tissues.
‘Jewie. I awlmost bawfed but I didn’t,’ she states matter-of-factly, then continues on her way. Sometimes Sally bawfs because she can’t figure out how to keep the mucus in her throat from tripping her gag reflex.
I work with twelve toddlers every day. One thing my life is not is boring.
It’s 9 o’clock, diaper time. I follow George into the bathroom and walk in just in time to watch him stick his fingers down his throat, vomit all over the sink, then punch the sink, obviously angry about that little lesson in cause and effect.
‘Wups. You awlmost bawfed and then you did.’
I’m glad I’m not a toddler anymore.
*names are changed to protect the youth.