The kid now speaks in complete sentences. Every little thing he says is magic.
“We have corncogs at our house, just like farmers do.” (Corncogs = corn on the cob)
“If you barf out of your mouth, do you have to go to the doctor?”
Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics comes on the radio. “This song is haunted.”
…all of this spoken in the same 5 minutes. I laugh and go huh non-stop.
L falls play-dramatically into my arms.
Me: “Do you know how precious you are to me?”
L: “Do you know the Muffin Man?”
One night we’re eating our Simulate chicken and toast with jam when my phone rings. I tap the option to screen the call. “It’s just spam.”
“SPAM?” L has never heard of such a thing, and why would he. “What is spam?”
“Spam is canned meat.” Thanks, Arthur.
“You’re spam,” the 3-year-old tells me.
“I’m quality content.”
He ROARS with laughter. This is the best thing ever. Say it again. Say it again! We all take turns calling each other spam and counteracting the accusation in increasingly silly voices. I’M quality content. I’m KOALA-TEE content. Sides split. Third eyes open and roll. It doesn’t get old, it will never get old, we are, after all, quality content.
“I’m going to start your bath.”
He places his hand on mine, gentle unhurried but grave as boneyards.
“Stay here. I’m going to burp.”
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