Most of the time I wish that Liam could understand what I was saying and could follow instructions. For example, after feeding Liam I put him on my knee, pat his back and he screams wildly. I tell him, “Just burp little buddy and you’ll feel better,” but he can’t understand me so he continues to scream till he finally burps. Or when I’m changing him and he is kicking his chubby little legs I normally say “Don’t put your foot in your diaper.” That normally ends with me cleaning poop off of his feet.
My favorite example happened about a week ago. I had Liam in his Bumbo and was feeding him mashed sweet potatoes mixed with oatmeal. I obviously underestimated his quickness because Li grabbed the spoon in my hand and jabbed himself in the roof of his mouth with it. Liam began to howl; I shook my head a little and could not keep myself from saying, “Well, did you learn something from that?” He didn’t really answer so I picked him up and consoled the poor little guy. If he could understand me I think that he would have learned a valuable lesson on not stabbing yourself with flatware.
With that being said, there are plenty of times that I am glad that he cannot understand me. One example of these times would be with the nicknames we have given him and our singing. As Sarah wrote before we have given Liam a number of ridiculous nicknames. Also, we both have a tendency to create silly songs and little dances to go along with these nicknames. I am glad that Liam cannot understand the tragedy that is happening in front of him and I hope that he never realizes how truly crazy his parents are.
Another example is my terrible mouth. I grew up playing sports, I’ve been in the military for more than ten years and I work in a predominantly male career field. I know this may be shocking but occasionally I use swear words; most of the time I use them in regular conversation and do not even realize that I’m doing it. I’m glad that he doesn’t understand me yet. I know I really have to work on this so that he’s not picking it up in the future.
The main thing I’m happy that he cannot understand is the cute little games that we all play with our babies. The other day Liam was on the ground on a blanket and I moved my face around his stomach saying, “I’m going to eat your belly,” while he laughed hysterically. Think about it, how often do you pretend to chew on or eat your babies toes or fingers or cheeks or other adorable little body part? If you think about it, it’s kind of morbid. I hope that nope of our children ever really understand the things that we find cute so that they do not grow up with some strange complex.
I have no idea what the little guy can or can’t understand, so there are some things I will do continue to do. I will continue to give him instruction because he eventually will understand it (and then ignore it, I'm sure). I have to watch my mouth and I have to figure out if I’m okay with my son understanding what a dork I am. Finally I will always tell him that I love him about a hundred times a day because it can’t hurt either way and even if he can’t understand I still want him to know.
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