I’ve spent a decent chunk of my son’s short life waiting to see the next thing he’d do. We anxiously awaited smiles, signs of recognition, rolling over, sitting up, walking, etc. I can still remember the tears of joy that spontaneously sprung from my eyes when he said “Mommy” for the first time, or the way I felt that my heart would explode when we went walking while holding hands. Most of all, more than anything, I waited for him to talk. I wanted to hear what he had to say, I wanted to find out if he had a sense of humor, I wanted to know his take on things. Needless to say, I haven’t been disappointed. He makes me laugh every day, and I’m touched when he shows tender concern. Here are just a few scenes from our life.

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Several weeks ago, we went out to eat along the promenade in Tel Aviv. The husband and I had fish, while the little one ate our chips/french fries. At one point, my husband reached over and took a french fry from my plate. The little one whirled around and said to his father accusingly, “you took chips from Mommy’s plate!” He turned back to me, stroked my head to “comfort” me, then turned back to my husband, took his hand and said, “make nice to Mommy,” clearly wanting his father to apologize.

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The little one likes to sing and dance (sadly, he’s not terribly good at either), and for a while, he was really into the song “I like to move it“, from the film “Madagascar“. His renditions were always rather quirky, as whenever I’d hear him singing it, I knew that I’d find him either completely naked or standing on something that he should not have been standing on (a table, the car), jumping up and down (not unlike the characters shown in the link to the song, above) while calling out, “I like to move it move it! I like to move it move it! I like to. MOVE IT!” Once, after a bath, he ran out to the patio naked, jumped into his empty kiddie pool, sat down and started playing the harmonica, which of course, preceded a naked rendition of the song. Never a dull moment in our house.

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We keep a fan outside on the patio for barbecuing (my genius husband realized that he could save himself a lot of work by using a fan to fan the flames instead of going the typical Israeli route of kneeling next to the grill while madly waving pieces of cardboard over the fire). One afternoon, the little one plugged the fan into a hole in the barbecue stand. Just at that moment, the wind picked up, and needless to say, he was very surprised when the fan started to spin. My sense of humor being what it is, I chose not to explain about the wind, and instead let him think that plugging the fan into the barbecue would indeed activate the fan. After all, if there’s no entertainment value, what’s the point, really?

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After a morning of snuggling in our bed, the little one decides he’s had enough and wants to go watch television in the living room. He climbs across me, and as he’s sliding with his back across my chest says, “There’s nipples under my back!”

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Husband: Little One, what are you doing?
Little One: I’m farting.

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