The wee one and I have some sort of bug so I was sleeping in the guest bedroom last night across the hall from her bedroom (master bedroom is downstairs). Around midnight, when her last dose of ibuprofen wore off she woke with a fever. We got some ibuprofen and a drink of water and then I just brought her in to lay in bed with me for a while and let the ibuprofen kick in. She proceeded to alternate sucking her thumb with having an ongoing monologue for the next hour. It then struck me that having a two year old is like having a narrator to your life. To point out the mundane and odd. Something like this:
Wee one: What's that noise? Air conditioner. Air conditioner. Air conditioner. Cool off house off. Medicine. Mouth. Make feel better. Medicine. What's that noise? What's that noise? What's that? Light. Light. Light. What's that? Smoke detector. Make you safe. Safe. Safe.
Right now we are still enjoying her sweet little voice but I'm pretty sure she's going to be one of those kids where in about a year we'll be thinking "please, just stop talking for 5 minutes or so."
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