We are squarely in the middle of two developmental milestones, one for each boy. We should be elated, right? Our children are learning, growing, exploring, etc. Oh, but if only they would do it somewhere else.
Darwin is firmly in the “why” phase of childhood. I know this is an important phase. I know I should nurture curiosity. But good Lord! It requires a PhD in physics, or theology, or philosophy to keep up with this kid! Every answer leads to another why, and if you say you don’t know, he won’t buy it. An “I don’t know” leads to “Well, maybe ’cause what?”, so you have to start hypothesizing about why the earth is tilted, or why a cat is called a cat. I have become part philosopher (“Why are they people and they’re cats, Mommy?”), part astronomer (“Why is the moon a circle, Mommy?”), part zoologist (“Why does a cat have eyes, Mommy?”) and part everything else under the sun. My personal favorite so far is “Why is there a hole in my bottom, Mommy?” If only I weren’t breastfeeding, and could take some really good drugs — I think I’d answer Darwin’s questions much better, and both our minds would be blown. I have discovered that you can sometimes just confuse him with big words, which is nice: “Well, when the earth reaches its solstice — which comes from the Latin for sticking sun — then there’s an equal amount of direct sunlight on the northern and southern hemispheres, which should not be confused with aphelion, of course.” That usually gives him something to chew on for a while (although usually I have no idea what I’m talking about). Or, I can also sometimes get away with something very simple and definitive: “Well, because of the water cycle.” And then I run.
Louis CK is my new favorite comedian, and he has a great bit about this. Now, you may not be as angry a parent as Louis CK and I are, so perhaps this won’t strike you as funny as it struck me, but I swear I laughed until I almost cried and peed my pants at the same time. It is, as are all Louis CK bits, NSFW, but it’s awesome.
The “why” part is at the end, but getting there is half the fun.
And then there’s Elijah. He is squarely in the phase where he tests gravity at ever chance. Mostly these chances come during mealtimes. Spoon. Drop. Crying. Retrieve spoon. Drop. Crying. Meanwhile, I’m trying to get 4 ounces of pureed sweet potatoes in his mouth. Someday, that spoon may just fall up, and then wouldn’t we all be surprised. Apparently, for both of them, I need a blackboard pre-scribbled with physics equations and a laser pointer. If only Shel Silverstein and Richard Feynman could get together. “The Missing Six Easy Pieces,” or something.
