So I have mentioned before that AE goes through phases where he talks a lot. A LOT. We have apparently cycled back into one such phase, with one difference: he isn’t really talking TO anyone. He’s just talking to hear the sound of his own voice, so far as I can tell. None of it makes any sense to me but that doesn’t stop it from grating on my nerves. He even rambles constantly while playing Wii. (He also bounces and runs around the room like a manic while Wii-ing but that’s another post.) Tonight’s endless monologue sounded a little something like this:
Here I go time for the 8th hole par 4 OH bogey! or triple bogey! man, stupid bogey. time for the 9th hole go go go oh! man! blah blah blah dee blah things that don’t make sense blah blah jabber jabber blather incessantly blather jabber JABBER. JABBER JABBER JABBER. jabber some more! more things that don’t make sense to anyone! 10th hole! monkeys! monkeyball! oh! bogey! time to go again blah blah dee blah! things! that my mom doesn’t understand! I’m just talking! for the sake of talking! and I probably don’t even realize that I’m still talking! TALKING! my dad wisely has his iPod on to block me out but my mom is listening for baby sister so luckily she can hear me too! and I’m talking! BLATHER BLATHER BLATHER!!!!!
Oh, you guys, it is BAD. And I am undoubtedly a bad mom for being so incredibly annoyed by it, but holy freaking COW just give it a rest, you know? STOP TALKING. Preferably before my ears start to bleed.
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Work continues to be – as my husband would put it – a giant SUCK. And there’s really nothing interesting to note about that, except that this professor is back. Only this time he says You have a good strong German name! Spelled with a K, even! How did your family know to give you such a good strong German name?
I don’t even know what to say to that. I…nope. No idea.
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Miss T has started pointing at things. Everything, actually, and as she points she always says BA. BA! Yes, look, what a nice orange pumpkin. BA! Oh, a bird. Look at that bird. BA! There’s a baby! What a cute baby. BA! Are you a baby? BA! Who am I? What’s my name? BA! I suppose I should just be grateful that she has a limited vocabulary and also occasionally stops to take a breath…
My son said “BA” for everything too. It drove us crazy. He kept it up almost to his 2nd birthday. I hope, for your sake, that Miss T learns to talk faster than my son.
Ok, so if being annoyed by the incessant talking makes you a bad mom, then I am one two. My son does the play by play thing when he is playing sports/video games. I think it is a boy thing. The latest thing that he does to irk me is scraping the bowls whenever he eats anything. He has to get every last bit of yogurt, cereal, etc.. out of the bowl. It is such a grating noise-drives me insane!
Man, you want one kid to stop talking and the other one to make actual words. It must be a rough life for AE and Miss T!!!!
j/k!
Just wait until Miss T decides that you should understand exactly which BA she means, even though she still uses it for 17 different things. “Bee” is our house is practically anything that starts with a B or flies. Bird? Is Bee. Bee? Is Bee. Plane? Is Bee. Wasp? Is Bee. And nevermind the fact that sometimes from a toddler “Nee” (which is what he mostly calls Fiona) sounds like “bee.” And God helps us all if we don’t understand exactly which “Bee” he is referring to. Bee. Beeee. BEEEE. BEEE!! BEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! I still don’t know.
So yeah, someone once told me that you wish for them to talk and then you wish they’d shut the hell up.
I think we need some audio of AE talking!
(The constant talking would drive me batty too. Jason does it sometimes and after a certain point I just want to put my hands over my ears and say, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”)
I cannot relate to this, but I feel like I should comment on something, anything. I wish I could commiserate with you about the joys of motherhood. But, no. Not so much. However, sometimes my cat walks into the kitchen and screams bloody murder. Then when I request that he stop and come out of there, he looks at me like, “WHAT?!? I’m BUSY.” Busy wailing at the fridge, no doubt. Freak.