It’s been slightly more than 5 months home. The other monthly milestones have been marked by profound gains in growth, behavior, and general adjustment, but this month, it’s all about the language. And the bicycle — rarely a day goes by without a ride around the neighborhood, and this Little Boy is getting fast, adroit, and a bit of an attitude. He’s in heaven when Daddy comes along on his bicycle, but he also likes pedaling up and down a slight hill on the sidewalk that adjoins the park, while I sprint beside him, terrified and breathless.
Little Boy is now speaking in full sentences, replete with verbs, though they’re grammatically rough. “Where’s it?” he’ll ask, looking for something. “It is good. It is no good. It’s not working. You do it too. Mommy talking loud.” I’ve stopped being surprised at what comes out of his mouth. “It’s not funny,” he said, pointing at the evening news. “Please” and “Thank you” are still not automatic, although “Sorry” is. His teacher reported to me on Monday evening that he was talking nearly non-stop that day, as if someone flipped a switch. I wouldn’t call him fluent by any means, but thanks to day care, he is making astounding linguistic progress. In later years, peer pressure will involve drugs, drinking, sex… but for now, it’s speaking English and wearing shoes that light up with every little step.
I have reached the point where I no longer think of Little Boy as “my son who is adopted” and simply “my son.” As Oprah once said, biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. It’s day in, day out of feeding him, dressing him, showering him, wiping him, taking him to the playground, hugging him when he falls down, and driving him to school. It’s quickly become enmeshed in my identity: Mommy.
And therefore, as Mommy, I must brag. Little Boy is decidedly mechanically-oriented, a little engineer who is determined to understand how everything works, from faucets to microwaves to light sensors to garlic presses. He is also athletically gifted, having mastered swimming and bicycling (by 3 year old standards, that is) and having a killer ball kick. We’ve also taken him on several long hikes in the woods, leaving the kiddie backpack behind and goading him to simply walk. It doesn’t always work…
But he’s gone more than one consecutive mile in the woods on his own. His incentive? Nutella sandwiches by the water.
He’s always up for anything. Yesterday, it was apple-picking in 80-degree killer humidity.
He picked about two apples (little ones, he insisted) and a pear.
When he started getting too frisky to handle in a sweltering orchard, I hastily picked about 8 pounds of apples in one minute and we fled. To our next adventure…
