Motor Mouth

After all of the complaining I did about Brigid not talking, at all, you'd think that I'd be thrilled she's starting to pick up on the whole communication thing. And I am, because nothing is funnier than hanging out with a toddler who, when she sees a stuffed giraffe, yells 'ZOO!!' triumphantly in your direction.

And when you ask her if she saw a giraffe at the zoo, she nods proudly, followed by a quick 'Da-da'.

Yes, Brigid, daddy was there.

'Mom-mom'

Yep, mommy was there, too.

'Me'

Well, yeah, kid, of course you were there. Because if you hadn't been there, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

The problem, now, would be that since she is officially taking the time to learn this 'talking' process we've been on her about for the last six months, she expects us to decipher every word that comes out of her mouth. And when the correct context is there, that's no problem.

But when you walk into Target, bribe her into the cart with a couple of fruit snacks, and she immediately starts yelling for 'SHEESE!!', it takes a minute (and a near breakdown in the dollar bin aisle) for you to realize that she is, in fact, requesting cheese.

Which you didn't bring with you, of course.

So, you will be forced to go buy a pack of Target brand string cheese, because that's what she wants, and she won't be satisfied with the individually wrapped colby cheese mini blocks, which is what you would prefer to buy, if you have to spend your money on an emergency cheese purchase.

And Brigid will happily eat said string cheese, until she gets to the last third of the stick, which she will (in the excitement of the Halloween aisle) shove into her mouth all at once. Then, she will decide it's too much, and she will spit partially chewed up string cheese into your hand, because she is a giver, that kid.

And then she will say 'DOWN!!'.

And you will hightail it out of the store, because you do NOT need to be picking up the trail of destruction she will leave behind her if you happen to make the mistake of giving in to this request. Which is something you've learned from experience, at the party supply store next door.

The lesson, as always: Never leave the house with a two-year old.

(Which bodes well for our painfully optimistic attempt at taking her to a football game this weekend, doesn't it? Send your well-wishes my way, please...)