If this mornings adventures are anything to go by, to the casual observer, my toddler might appear to have an incredibly foul mouth. This morning, after we got home from Mini Music, O walked around the laundry room peering into the sorted baskets of dirty clothing muttering “fak, fak.”
When I asked what he was looking for, he emphatically replied “fak!” and continued to rummage through one of the baskets. At last the “fak” was unearthed, Baby P’s terry cloth frog.
The frog in question is used as a small drool cloth, general purpose spit-up rag, “lovie” and snuggle thing. I slip it over P’s arm when he’s in the bouncy so he can gnaw on it instead of his chubby fists, it joins P in the ergo incase he tries to spit up all over my shirt, and it occasionally joins us while P nurses so he can grab it instead of me.
Frog sees a lot of action. Thankfully, Frog has a companion, Monkey, they take turns seeing action, and seeing the inside of the washing machine.
This morning, after Mini Music, P fell asleep clutching Monkey, so Monkey went in the pack-n-play for nap time. O was distressed that P was missing “fak” so he went to searching for him in the laundry bins.
Now that I have stifled my giggles and set aside the horror of a toddler dropping the f-bomb, I am gently but firmly reminding O that the Frog in question is indeed a frog with a g.
“Oliver, what is this?” I ask, holding the frog.
“Frog, with a G.”
O nods sagely, repeats solemnly: “Fak.” He is so proud he has a word for the object in question.