We’ve got one of those smart kids. The ones that don’t miss a beat. The ones that just sit and observe… in a creepy, I’m watching you, sort of way. You know they are just soaking it all up, waiting for the moment to bring it all back in your face. Every single thing they’ve seen and heard.
And while Leah isn’t quite doing everything I know she’s seen… she’s doing it a lot of it.
No one gets away from her either. Not Kyle, not me, and certainly not Duncan. She imitates each and every one of us… and if it means eating dog food… she’ll do it. If it means taking a wipe and cleaning every surface in the house, she’ll do it. And if it means reading Hulk comic books… she’ll do it. She is a mini Kyle, a mini me, and a mini Duncan all rolled into one.
We have most certainly entered a new stage with her. I think a right of passage so to say. We now have to s-p-e-l-l most conversations around here. Even if she can’t say every word she wants to – she certainly knows them all. We can’t talk about anything if it includes something she knows, likes, or wants to do.
For instance, “should we go to the pool later?” is now, “should we g-0 to the p-o-o-l later?” And yes, we have to spell “go” because “go” means get in the car… always something she wants to do. It’s a fun, tricky, and exhausting little task. And it gets funnier, trickier, and more exhausting the longer the words are. Sometimes we just stare at each other blankly while trying to figure out what sentence was just spelled.
“Can I t-a-k-e her u-p-s-t-a-i-r-s for b-a-t-h-t-i-m-e?”
It’s necessary though, to avoid crying and whining. You see, the kid loves her bath. And if Kyle just came out with, “can we go upstairs for a bath?” and it wasn’t quite time… she would run to the stairs, go up them, get undressed, and sit in the empty tub and whine until one of us turned on the water.
She just knows too much.
And once she learns something, it is impossible for her to unlearn it. Which is good, I think. Some things I think I’d like her to unlearn… like how to stick her face in her plate and eat like Duncan. And how to get to anything she wants to on my phone. And that there are popsicles in the freezer.
I guess, like everything else has been… it’s a new stage.
It’s not just Leah, though, don’t you worry. Although we call him an idiot a lot of times, we have a very smart dog. I can’t say food, or bone, or car, or walk… or else there is jumping and wagging the tail of death, knocking things over, running in circles, panting, and drooling. If we’re not ready to do any one of those things with him at the exact moment we say it, it must be spelled. “Can you give Duncan some f-o-o-d before we go on a w-a-l-k?”
I don’t see this ending anytime soon, either. They are both only going to build on the words they know. They are both only going to learn more and more. They are both only going to get smarter.
Which means I really need to brush up on my spelling.
They’re too smart for their mom.