“Please don’t shit your ‘dozer”
…and other thoughts on foster care.
I’m going to skip, for now, the parts about how kids are gross and loud and don’t ever let you fucking sleep, as well as the finer political and social aspects of the system, in order to focus on the part where kids are hilarious. And cute.
The little one almost immediately started calling Jamie “Mama”. As he only knows about three words (Also “stop” and “popop” – which, depending on the context means either “Grandad” or “puppy”. I suppose the latter is probably “pupup”, but he doesn’t enunciate the difference well.) Anyhow, as his vocabulary is limited, he doesn’t refer to me at all, but we generally assume that in his head i am referred to as “that bitch that lives with Mama,” judging by how he shrieks at the top of his lungs if i pick him up, and sometimes simply if i touch him or deign to be in his general vicinity. Oh yeah, and especially if i am getting snuggles that he wants. Which is any of them.
The three year old simply referred to Jamie as “her” for the first week or two – despite that he does know her name – but has begun calling her “Mama” as well. I, on the other hand, am exclusively referred to by name, or as “him”. A source of endless amusement.
He has also been terribly confused by the fact that my place of work is a converted house, leading him to ask “him’s going home?” every time we got in the car for the first week, as well as the doubly-cute “him’s going to home to work?” now that he has half a grasp on what’s going on.
In other news, kids’ clothes are adorable, but inefficient – in that skin is so easy to clean, and cloth fairly difficult. Hence the title situation, in which the child decided that a diaper was so totally overdressed for the ride-on bulldozer, while simultaneously announcing “i need to poop!” Fortunately for the bulldozer – but unfortunately for the potty-training efforts – that hasn’t the least to do with his actual need to poop, but rather has to do with his love of talking about poop, real or imagined.