Tuesday, June 18, 2013


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. 


*A family babymoon? Is there such a thing? Blog on that to come.