That title may be misleading. I’m not talking about a conversation that has been going on for two years, but rather the conversation that occurs between myself and my two year old.
Most of the really intricate ones take place in the car or at night just before bed. In the car she asks lots of questions. Right before bed she often tells on herself, her brother, or her father. For instance, today she wanted me to know that daddy said the pizzeria at Great Explorations did not have real pizza that you could eat. She wanted me to say he was wrong, and that she should have been allowed to eat the pizza, which I’m pretty sure is made of felt. Had to side with Daddy on that one.
Today in the car she asked if we were driving by the baseball game (she means stadium), and we were. She then decided that we should go to the aquarium. I realized that she had the hockey stadium and the baseball stadium mixed up, so I explained that the aquarium is in Tampa, near the hockey stadium. I further stated that we live in St. Pete, near the baseball stadium. She yelled: “we don’t live in St. Pete!” We went round on this one for a while until she finally yelled: “We don’t live in St. Pete! We live at our house!” There was no convincing her that our house was in St. Pete, so I changed the subject to tortilla chips (which we like very much).
A lot of these conversations are ridiculous. Many make no sense or are hysterical. Also, sometimes I find myself taking them very seriously. I want to say the right thing, even to a two year old.
Tonight, as I danced with her before bed, she asked me if I was fragile. She asked me this because her father basically lets her beat the crap out of him (to be fair, I get to do it too). When she tries to pummel me I tell her to be gentle with me because I am fragile. Seriously, she will hurt you. She is my viking baby. When she asked me tonight if I was fragile, I thought: “Hell, no.” What I said was: “Mommy is fragile on the outside and strong on the inside.” She started to maul me looking for my fragile places, so I told her my skin was fragile. Where is my skin? Under my freckles, of course. She has one freckle and she will tell you all about it, so I thought she would understand that as a concept, and it worked. Then I showed her that I was so strong I could squeeze her super tight, and I lifted her like a barbell. I told her that she could always count on me to be strong for her. She said: “okay.” A lot of the time I know she doesn’t get it, but I hope that if I have these conversations with her enough, some day she’ll get some of what I’m trying to say.
I also hope she continues to tell on everyone, sometimes it is really good information.