"Ow. Quit it. Ow. Quit it. Ow. Quit it."
Abbie is currently obsessed with “owies.” She loves finding wounds, pointing to them, and announcing “owie.”
I’m glad that Abbie is finally talking, but I had envisioned her first communications as more useful. I dreamed she might say “milk” when she wanted something to drink, or “poopy” to give me a warning before she ripped her diaper off in front of company. Instead she points to the same scabs a dozen times a day, and labels them “owie” each time to give me an update on their status.
She has plenty of owie examples to point to. Abbie has no fear, and is always picking up new wounds from falling off the wrong object or taunting the wrong animal. Her current favorite owie is a couple of cat scratch marks on her leg from a recent petting session gone awry.
Abbie likes petting kitties with her feet. She’s learned that it’s safer to keep her distance and pet with the feet than it is to pet with the hands and lean her vital organs closer to the claws.* Of course, foot pettings really spook the cats, but since they don’t exactly sit still for her hand pettings either she might as well use her feet.
A few days ago, Abbie had the cat cornered, determined to remind him how much she loved him. She stuck out her foot to pet him. He gently used his teeth to leave a couple of three-inch reminders that he doesn’t like her. I was concerned when I first saw the marks he left,** but little did I know they’d be a source of wonder for her each time she hikes up her pant leg.
As her language grows, she’s not just content to say “owie” to me until I stop eating breakfast and acknowledge her; she has to classify her owies as well. Usually this means she has “kitty owies.” She always has a few cat scratches scattered across her extremities, reminders from the cats to stay away that she misappropriates as opportunities to work on her language.
When she runs out of owies to point to on her body, she searches other people’s bodies for owies. Ellie took offense the first time Abbie pointed out a “momma owie,” thinking she was blaming her for that time she fell off the couch. Then she realized she was pointing to a scratch on momma’s hand, hence a “momma owie.”
My hands always have scratches for Abbie to find. As a parent of three young children, I have better things to worry about than my hand’s trajectory as I thrust it in the direction of whatever I need, such as into a silverware drawer that I didn’t take the time to fully open so I can grab a spoon for the boys before they suffer total meltdown while awaiting yogurt. The result is I often scrape my hands on the edges of things, leaving a mark for Abbie to point to.
This morning while I ate breakfast, Abbie found such a mark. She pointed to it and said “kitty owie.” I had a mouthful of cereal, so I shook my head “no.” She repeated “kitty owie,” and again I shook my head. As I swallowed my cereal, she repeated “kitty owie.”
“Yes, that’s a kitty owie,” I acquiesced. I suppose I wouldn’t get any more peace and quiet if she were asking for milk.
* She still likes to give the kitties kisses, though, so she has a few things left to learn about keeping her distance.
** He left them through her pajamas, no less.
I’m glad that Abbie is finally talking, but I had envisioned her first communications as more useful. I dreamed she might say “milk” when she wanted something to drink, or “poopy” to give me a warning before she ripped her diaper off in front of company. Instead she points to the same scabs a dozen times a day, and labels them “owie” each time to give me an update on their status.
She has plenty of owie examples to point to. Abbie has no fear, and is always picking up new wounds from falling off the wrong object or taunting the wrong animal. Her current favorite owie is a couple of cat scratch marks on her leg from a recent petting session gone awry.
Abbie likes petting kitties with her feet. She’s learned that it’s safer to keep her distance and pet with the feet than it is to pet with the hands and lean her vital organs closer to the claws.* Of course, foot pettings really spook the cats, but since they don’t exactly sit still for her hand pettings either she might as well use her feet.
A few days ago, Abbie had the cat cornered, determined to remind him how much she loved him. She stuck out her foot to pet him. He gently used his teeth to leave a couple of three-inch reminders that he doesn’t like her. I was concerned when I first saw the marks he left,** but little did I know they’d be a source of wonder for her each time she hikes up her pant leg.
As her language grows, she’s not just content to say “owie” to me until I stop eating breakfast and acknowledge her; she has to classify her owies as well. Usually this means she has “kitty owies.” She always has a few cat scratches scattered across her extremities, reminders from the cats to stay away that she misappropriates as opportunities to work on her language.
When she runs out of owies to point to on her body, she searches other people’s bodies for owies. Ellie took offense the first time Abbie pointed out a “momma owie,” thinking she was blaming her for that time she fell off the couch. Then she realized she was pointing to a scratch on momma’s hand, hence a “momma owie.”
My hands always have scratches for Abbie to find. As a parent of three young children, I have better things to worry about than my hand’s trajectory as I thrust it in the direction of whatever I need, such as into a silverware drawer that I didn’t take the time to fully open so I can grab a spoon for the boys before they suffer total meltdown while awaiting yogurt. The result is I often scrape my hands on the edges of things, leaving a mark for Abbie to point to.
This morning while I ate breakfast, Abbie found such a mark. She pointed to it and said “kitty owie.” I had a mouthful of cereal, so I shook my head “no.” She repeated “kitty owie,” and again I shook my head. As I swallowed my cereal, she repeated “kitty owie.”
“Yes, that’s a kitty owie,” I acquiesced. I suppose I wouldn’t get any more peace and quiet if she were asking for milk.
* She still likes to give the kitties kisses, though, so she has a few things left to learn about keeping her distance.
** He left them through her pajamas, no less.
posted by Matt at
11:16 PM
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