I just read over them, and it struck me that most of them revolve around Peeper talking.
As she turns 22 months, she continues to bowl me over with her gift of gab. Whether she’s telling us what she remembers the zoo animals doing at our last visit, repeating nonsense words to herself or telling me she loves me, her mouth is motoring nearly all day.
She wakes up talking. “Change your diaper. Lots of pees in there!” she’ll say as I pull open the blinds.
And after I put her in the crib at night, we hear snippets of toddler monologue through the monitor.
I’m glad I wrote down these interactions—they’re the silly little things I’ll want to tell her about when she’s older. I thought I’d share them on the blog, too. Here, then, is a
glimpse listen into Peeper’s world.
“Peeper has something for you!” my mom called as she and Peeper came in from a walk.
Peeper rushed into the room where I was typing.
“Have big, big rock for you!” Peeper said, offering me a stone twice as big as her fist but keeping hold of a daisy she clutched in the other hand.
Save the bouquets. That is a precious gift from my dirt-, mud-, rock-loving daughter.
Peeper is a budding wordsmith. The other day, as I was pulling on her pants, she said, “Stripes, like a zebra.”
Another morning, I opened the blinds when she woke up. As light spilled into her room, she rubbed her eyes and said, “Blinking, like ‘Wheels on the Bus.’” (“The lights on the bus go blink, blink, blink”—you know the tune!)
And perhaps my favorite: I was sitting on the floor, and Peeper had her hands on my face. “Mama has lips,” she said, and paused. “Like tulips!”
One sunny afternoon, I was determined to take Peeper on a hike—even though she woke up from her nap on the wrong side of the crib. Her less-than-tip-top mood continued even when we arrived at Maddax Woods. Peeper wanted to be carried and wrapped her legs around me whenever I tried to set her down.
Well, this pregnancy isn’t letting me carry my 21-pound-toddler so easily anymore, so I kept trying. I pointed out the cattails, bridge and mossy logs she could explore by foot, but still she clung.
I figured the descent down to a sandy beach on the Willamette would get her out of my arms. But when I asked if she wanted to walk now, she replied, “Good grief, Mama carry you!”
She may not have full grasp of her pronouns, but Peeper has mastered exasperation.
In between clouds of bubbles, she ran up to me and put a hand on my middle.
“Big baby growing in Mama’s uterus!” she exclaimed before sprinting away.
Her vocabulary is growing even more quickly than her little sister!
As Peeper learns more about the world, she has become fixated on identifying everything. “What’s that?” she’ll ask, pointing, to this and that—even objects she knows. And when we go for walks outside, she asks, “What’s that noise?” even when I hadn’t noticed a sound. She hears far-off sirens, airplane engines, barking dogs and leaf blowers.
The other night, Eric turned her game around. As they read a book during wind-down, Eric simply pointed to different parts of the page and listened as Peeper talked about what she saw. As he told me about her explanations—mini-stories, really—I marveled at how much she knows and how much she enriches our lives.
Happy 22 months, my sweet talkosaurus.