Last night, Rhiannon and I stopped over at the home of the Toddler-That-Doesn’t-Trust-Me. Unlike many of the times we’ve been over there, this wasn’t a planned visit – we just stopped by to say hi since we were a block away. As such, we got a chance to see a real evening in the life of parents of a two-year old. Along with all the house talk over the past few months, Rhiannon and I have every so slowly found the topic of having kids creep into our discussions on occasion.
The TTDTM was never overly vocal when she was younger – at least not that we ever saw. She never babbled louder than conversation or insisted that all attention be on her at every possible moment. She now talks with real words. She now comprehends what you are saying and knows when your attention is not on her. This is no longer acceptable.
Rhiannon was sitting on the floor with TTDTM reading/dressing dolls/hugging stuffed ducks/matching colored blocks/trying to have a conversation with the rest of the adults in the house. All of these were acceptable behaviors except one. The others rotated every 10 seconds or until TTDTM’s attention span ran out, whichever came first. And in the two seconds it took for the attention span to reset on the new activity, Rhiannon tried to squeeze in a story. After a few minutes, I asked if she wanted me to finish it for her.
Her uncle looked at me and said with a completely straight face, “This is how all our conversations have gone around here for the last 6 months. We [his wife and he] haven’t really talked with each other since about Christmas.”
And he wasn’t kidding. Much. If at all.
After last night, I think we both agreed to wait for a little while on the kids. At least until we get tired of talking to each other.