“I got you flowers, Mommy!” He spun in three circles and then did a forward roll off the couch. Some people express their excitement in mere words. Others need their whole bodies plus a three-foot radius. My son falls into the latter category.
“Look at the flowers! I got them for you! Me and Daddy did!” In a matter of seconds, he perched himself on the edge of the countertop and crouched not unlike a baboon inspecting a furry friend’s back for insects. He fingered the rose petals with a gentleness I didn’t think possible, thanks to the coaching I’m sure he received from his dad.
Benjamin shifted his attention back to me. “Because,” he said, seriousness in his voice, “guh-wuls need flowers.”
I bit back my laughter and told Ben that, if he remembered those three words, he’d fair pretty well with the women in his life. This wasn’t the first time my son uttered such a politically incorrect statement. Among the others I hear on a regular basis are:
“Me and Daddy take care of you and Ryleigh because we’re the MEN of the house.”
“We love the guh-wuls of our house.”
“Me and Daddy will take care of that because we’re STRONG.”
And my personal favorite:
“When I grow up to be a daddy…”
My son is three but is convinced he holds within him the strength of a full grown black bear (which is the best kind of bear according to him, by the way). He’s convinced that I need his help in order to lift or move anything that contains mass. And if he’s unable to help in the way he believes he can, he’s quick to tell me, “Don’t worry, Daddy can do it.”
Sure, I carried the human for nine months and gave birth to him and all that. (Blah blah, right?) But when Daddy walks into the room? He. Is. The. Man.
Happy Father’s Day week!