Grandma discovered, quite by accident, that Megan, a whole 18 months old, can "read" her name. Oh, and it's not just her name. She picks out her brother's too. She recognizes both names in the places she's seen them on a regular basis and in places they've never been in before. Write down "M-E-G-A-N" and she points to the word, then herself saying "May-may. Me!" Of course May-may is the closest she comes to saying Megan.
Apparently she can also count to three in Spanish. Thanks to Dora books and the occasional Dora and/or Diego show, she knows a few other Spanish words. Her most favorite is "Nose-chiz" (as in buenas noches - good night.)
She's fascinated by the bathroom. She's fascinated by her brother's underwear. To keep her from stealing his briefs and trying to wear them over her clothes, we bought her own. She's sat on the potty. She's used it a few times - with no regular consistancy. This morning the three of us chatted about the potty. Logan told her the big preschooler secret - they all use the potty. No diapers. Megan stared at him with a look of total awe. Then she said, with complete conviction, "No diapah. Unnerwear." I'm really ok with the matra sinking in and taking hold.
Lately it's become clear that Megan understands the vast majority of what is said *to* her. We've begun to try to explain things to her in light of the fact. Last night I talked to her about going to sleep on her own in the crib at night the way she does for naps. She stared at me and said simply "No. Rock rock chair."
"But Megan, do you see Logan rocked to sleep?" She shook her head. "That's because he's a big kid, right? He goes to sleep on his own in his room."
She stared for a moment. Then she smiled, a big, wide, I'll show you smile. "Me," she said patting her chest. "Baby. No big dirl. Baby. Rock rock chair."
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Conversing
Megan has been talking for quite a while. Every day the words get clearer. The phrases a bit more sophisticated.
And now, we've had our first real conversation. We were at Grandma and Papa's house for a visit. I was sitting on the floor in one room as we ate our lunches. Megan pulled on my hand. "Mama up," she said over and over until I gave in. "Hand," she commanded. She took mine and led me the living room, releasing me so she could pound on the front door.
"Out door? Mama, play."
I told her no. "It's cold, you don't have your coat."
"I do!" she protested with a fierce nod of her head.
"You do? It's not on you," I said and then tried to figure out what to distract with her.
"Right there! On chair," she said in return. She marched over to the right spot and started to drag our coats to the ground. She handed me mine with a coy smile, "Flip-roo," She commanded. And that, would be Megan's preschool* inspired way to say "Put that coat on!"
*Megan is very much about having or doing whatever Logan has/does. Prime example -- getting her coat on herself. She watches him put his jacket on the way they do in school. Lie the coat on the floor spread open. The collar near your feet. You bend down, slip each hand in the corresponding coat arm. Then 1, 2, flippa-roo, you bring your arms up over your head, letting the coat slide into place as you do. She attempts to follow his lead. Sometimes she gets it right. Other times she gets her coat on backwards. She's gotten it on upside down once or twice also. Not that she cares. She's incredibly proud of being able to do it herself to the point that she insists on going as is.
There are some battles worth fighting Meg on, and others you're just better off walking away from.
And now, we've had our first real conversation. We were at Grandma and Papa's house for a visit. I was sitting on the floor in one room as we ate our lunches. Megan pulled on my hand. "Mama up," she said over and over until I gave in. "Hand," she commanded. She took mine and led me the living room, releasing me so she could pound on the front door.
"Out door? Mama, play."
I told her no. "It's cold, you don't have your coat."
"I do!" she protested with a fierce nod of her head.
"You do? It's not on you," I said and then tried to figure out what to distract with her.
"Right there! On chair," she said in return. She marched over to the right spot and started to drag our coats to the ground. She handed me mine with a coy smile, "Flip-roo," She commanded. And that, would be Megan's preschool* inspired way to say "Put that coat on!"
*Megan is very much about having or doing whatever Logan has/does. Prime example -- getting her coat on herself. She watches him put his jacket on the way they do in school. Lie the coat on the floor spread open. The collar near your feet. You bend down, slip each hand in the corresponding coat arm. Then 1, 2, flippa-roo, you bring your arms up over your head, letting the coat slide into place as you do. She attempts to follow his lead. Sometimes she gets it right. Other times she gets her coat on backwards. She's gotten it on upside down once or twice also. Not that she cares. She's incredibly proud of being able to do it herself to the point that she insists on going as is.
There are some battles worth fighting Meg on, and others you're just better off walking away from.
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