Repeat Offender

Pheeeew, long break - just didn't have much to say. Onward....

At two and a quarter, Rosie is really starting to make some sense. I can understand a fair bit of every conversation. And she has a lot to say - most of it charming and delightful. Yesterday, she put her baby in her high chair, tipped her head slightly, clasped her hands and asked solicitously, "Are you hungry, sweet girl?" The baby was promptly served some hairy carpet carrots and limp cheerios. Sweet.

But not all verbal offerings are cute and pleasant. In fact, if I had to be honest the last three days of conversing with Rose has been a massive exercise in tolerance. Really more like nails on a chalkboard. It's like waking up next to a lover after the honeymoon phase and realizing that the way he talks, walks and chews are more irritating and apelike than you can tolerate. And so begins the end of the relationship. Except, mine's two and I can't kick her out. A week ago, I'd barely registered the fact that Rose repeats every phrase and question, circling endlessly in a toddler Rain Man impression from hell. Cloistered in the house with her most of the day, listening to her little phrases over and over and over again is driving me mad. She's a repeat offender, uttering the same thing over and over again. Case in point, as I'm writing this, she tried to cut my jeans with safety scissors. I tell her," We only cut paper Rosie." And then she says, as she walks away:

Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper

Until I respond or chime in, "That's right, only cut paper." And she says, "yeah." I've let this manic little repeater go on and on just to see how far she'll go - like a little CD, stuck on a few bars. How many times can she say the same phrase? Twenty-seven. And that's only because I couldn't stand it anymore. Who knows how long she would go on without interference. It would make sense to me if I never answered a question or demand or statement, if I was always preoccupied with phone calls, Facebook or Oprah, and honestly, sometimes I'm not that quick on the draw. But, more or less, I'm here. I'm present. And I hear everything she says when she says it. I just can't seem to answer her fast enough. And then sometimes, even when she gets the answer or acknowledgment, my response provides only the briefest respite until the next loop, sometimes on the same topic. Aaaaaaaaaah!

The funny thing is that I'm fairly certain that I've actually created this two-foot verbal monster. Maybe if I'd been less attentive, if Chris and I had ignored her, she wouldn't look for so much acknowledgment. Doubt it, but one wonders. I've talked to her her whole life, so it's quite natural that once she really got into language she would talk to me all the time. All the time. Harp is a big talker too, but her word choice varies so our conversations tend to leave me less cross-eyed and much more appreciative of her six-year-old self. For now, I'll just have to wait for Rose to grow into more words, to realize the richness of the language and that so much more can be uttered than:

Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
and so on......

Until that day:

Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
and so on.......