I’ve thought it was super cute over the past few months when
my child has used the word pretty in a sentence. He likes Shakira. (He sees her
on The Voice during bath time). He thinks she’s pretty. He thinks every pretty
girl on TV is called Shakira, and says “Shakira pretty.” And we always agree. After
all, Shakira IS pretty. He’s said on occasion “Mommy pretty.”
He’s even said it in the past combined with a
hug. And I have totally eaten it up. The hubs totally thinks I’ve taught him
that one. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve encouraged it (mommy likes compliments, after
all!), but T learned it all on his own. I SWEAR. I was actually hoping that the
hubs taught him that one in a sweet romantic moment, but I’m pretty sure that
wasn’t the case – based on his insistence that I could be the only one to teach
the kiddo that phrase. So, we’ll give our old daycare provider credit for that
surefire and slightly egotistical path to my heart.
Then there was last week. We were on vacay last week in Port
Aransas* and T saw a pretty newscaster on TV at lunch. And says that she’s
pretty. So, I do what all very-pregnant-ladies-in-need-of-a-surefire-ego-boost
would do. I ask him if I’m pretty. And I get a big, fat NO. And an adamant head
shake. And then he even goes as far as to clarify, in case I was wondering if
he didn’t understand the question. “No, mommy not pretty.” I get it, kid, I get it.
Seriously.
*A family babymoon? Is there such a thing? Blog on that to
come.
