Bok-tee

Oscar's really into identifying things right now. Our current favorite Oscar words: "Bok-tee (broccoli)," "Chih-nuh (chin)," "Bwa-t (Boat)," "Fish" and "Shoe (the latter two usually being phrased as a question)." He also really enjoys pointing out flowers, apples (or "ap-poe," which is kind of a catch-all term for a wide range of fruits, vegetables and tubers), airplanes and all manner of motor vehicles, which are collectively grouped under the term "Vroom!"

Last night, when he'd finished eating, he announced: "Awdone!" This evening, when I handed him the juice he'd requested, he said: "Thank you." He also identified a color for the first time (yellow).

And then, as I was getting him ready for his bath, he dropped a shoe. "Uh-oh," he said. "Shoe." "That's okay," I said, pulling off the other one and setting it next to the first. "You won't need them in the bath." "Bye, shoes," he said, and waved goodbye. Which, in addition to being really cute, was the first time I've heard him put two words together, though Jen says he said "Papa chin" last week.

Sue says he's entering the helping stage, a magical period usually lasting to mid-toddlerdom wherein the child, being incapable of differentiating between work and play, wants to help with all sorts of tasks. The other day, Oscar helped Jen and Sue lay down some heavy carpet tiles to make a playroom Uptown.

Here he is with Clare, feeding the ducks (or rather, eating the breadcrumbs offered him to feed the ducks with) in Central Park:



Oscar's willfulness grows ever more assertive, though the tantrums that follow a thwarting usually blow over after about 15 seconds of anguished rage. The big sore spot right now is his bottle, as we're trying to transition him to cups (doctor's orders). He'll now ask for milk or juice by name, and we'll give him some in a sippy cup (which is just a bottle with a funny lid, according to the good doctor). He'll then drag the offending adult all the way across the apartment to a bottle and demand that by name ("Bot-toe? Bot-toe?"), which is perfectly heartbreaking. And then he'll scream and cry when cruelly denied it. We're kind of screwed, because we need to give him bottles at night and first thing in the morning if we want any sleep, but we're trying to gradually introduce alternate means of hydration. So far, I think he's winning.

"Milk," by the way, is for some reason "Mok-tee." Of late, books have become "book-tee." We think his newfound enthusiasm for broccoli (pronouncing the word, not eating the vegetable) is bleeding over into other parts of his vocabulary.



He badly needs a tricycle, but we sure as shit don't have room for one. We have made an offer on a 2 bedroom in the East Village, though even if everything just falls into place, it'll be months before we can hack through all the red tape and move in, and by then his new trike'll need snow tires. Well, would, if not for global warming. But it'll be cold.

The new place is, happily, only a second-floor walkup, which is good, because he's getting impossible to carry up five flights, what with all his wriggling and his increasing heaviness -- though he will take as many as three flights on his own steam when it suits him. It's also on the Hell's Angels block, so maybe we'll get him a little mini-Harley trike and a My First Crank Lab set a temporary tattoo. But that's a ways off. For now, we'll have to make do with borrowed wheels or hitch a ride around the playground.