Of course, because you ask so many questions!
(By the way, the Blogging 101 of the day says I shall write to my ideal reader. Not that I think Babylove to be my ideal reader in general, you know it’s you darling. But as it happens, today I want to tell something to BL but he’s not able to understand (yet, or maybe he is, sometimes I am so very surprised by how much he processes in his lovely little head). I thought, hm, I can write it and show him later. Maybe. Hence the opening. Hence the end of this parenthesis.)
(Yes, another parenthesis to let you know, my actual reader, that of course you can go on reading if you like. It’s a public diary, right?)
Babylove & why the hell children just can’t speak at a normal tone – or is it just you?
That’s true that you have two naturally loud parents.
(Ah, I see you raising your brow. “You’re naturally loud, Jess? I thought you hated loudness! Why did I read all the bullshit of the previous post then?” Did you now? I am so very flattered. Okay okay, you’re right darling. But hey, I am French. I am naturally loud. Only, I know people who are louder (IMHO). And, deary, I don’t have to hear myself!)
(And by the way: have you ever realized how loud kids can be? Let’s face the truth: they have to be. Most of them are small and fragile. Being desperate for attention is kind of a survival trick. I mean, if you see a kid, you don’t step on him/her, right? But before you lower your eyes to their level, you need to hear one. Hence the loudness. Of course, here comes the exception: Babylove. Taller, bigger, thus should be quieter but no, aha, no he is louder. Much louder.
This is sometimes so tiring, even for him I am sure. Once I tried to be for a whole hour as loud as I perceive him, and I was exhausted afterwards. Needed almost the other hour to get back on my feet. I was hungover from loudness…)
Voila, now I lost myself in parenthesis trying to justify what is yet to come.
BL, I love you.
- Even when you roar at me in the morning to wake me up – because you are a little tiger, yes, I know.
- Even when you scream around in the restaurants because I unfairly do not let you play with your baby knife – I really don’t want you to take bad habits that can follow with real knives.
- Even when the one word that seems in your vocabulary every other day is “NEIN!” Ah wait, I am unfair, also you have “No” and “Non Maman, non”. Altogether it makes 4 words.
- Even when you run away just the moment to put on your jacket and shoes, and then you run away before I can install you in the Croozer, and then we’re in front of the group-door, and it’s closed and there is this stupid red smiley not smiling to indicate that we can’t go in. Oddly enough, the earlier we start the day, the longer this routine takes. Or the door is shut earlier too? Or… time plays me? Yeah, my poor Babylove, I blame you but in fact, it’s time that I should untrust. Though I never really trusted it. I shall be careful, summer-time is coming.
- Even when we play with finger-paint and you decide that the limited area (quite a lot of space usually, your bedroom is bigger than mine!) is not enough and you’ll better go exploring the walls of the whole flat.
- Even when you are on the starting line, during a baby-run, and you start asking questions like “Why should I wait the bang? What is the bang? Why are my running shoes blue? I want to green like Pauli’s. Why? WHY?” and all I want to answer is “Shut up and run!”
- Especially when I prepare the Croozer for you before jogging, and I ask you if you feel comfy enough, warm, okay with the light, should I let the protection up or should I… and you do your “Shh, Maman, shhh. Run!”
Babylove I love you. You know best.
(This can turn quickly odd when you admit that sometimes, the youngest and least biologically developed people in your household know best. Don’t you think?)