I'm Bigger

This afternoon, I walked into the living room.  Spencer said, "I'm bigger."  I asked him "What?" which is, unfortunately, what I ask him often; and he repeated, "I'm bigger!"  I said, "You're bigger?"  And he said, "Yes.  I'm bigger!"

At this point, I'm tired.  I'm tired of worrying about what he's saying.  I'm tired of worrying whether he's saying enough.  I'm tired of worrying that I'm worrying about what he's saying so much that I'm not teaching him other important things.  I'm tired of worrying about worrying about worrying.  I want to be his mom.  I want to talk with him.  I want to converse with him.  He's three for crying out loud.  I was forcing my mom into theological debates at this age.  And with Spencer, I'm still clarifying.

I worry about the syntax, the grammar, the vocab.  I worry because I don't know how to tell him how to make his sounds in a way that helps him make them better.  I worry that all the worry has made me the worst version of myself at the point in my life where I so hoped to be the best version of myself.  You know, the raising my child point.  It's a big deal.  Everything is such a big deal.

I finally break out of my worry fog, and decide we are going to have to talk about when we say "bigger" and when we say "big," because obviously he doesn't get it.  Desperately trying to push the worry aside, I attempt to sound non-chalant but clear.  What do you mean you're bigger?  What are you bigger than?  Do you mean you're bigger than Evie?  He grins and says, "Noooooo."  So, I try to explain it again without blatantly explaining it.  I think they call it "recasting."  I love how there fancy words for saying what obviously needs to be said to the child who is having a hard time saying things (sense the sarcasm).  I say, "Do you mean you are bigger than you used to be?"  He just sort of grins.  We leave it at that.  Or I thought we did.

He follows me into the kitchen and tells me again, "I'm bigger."  I think I finally say, "Ok, honey," or something equally apathetic and pointless.  And then, he does it.  He expounds.  He says, "I'm bigger.  Now you get me a dog."

Surely you've inferred that I've answered his past requests for a pet, namely a dog with a vague, wishy-washy, "Maybe when you're bigger."

And just like that a little bit of the worry falls away.


  1. you are a great mom! That is hysterical that he knew exactly what he was telling you - he was just waiting for the right moment to spring the dog idea on you ;)

  2. That is absolutely hilarious! Get the boy a dog. You have to do it now. LOL


What do you think?