Apparently E. has his first complex. The complex came from the 12-Hour-Violent-Projectile-Vomiting-Virus-of-Death, which E. sailed through with nary a whimper. But now we have this conversation every day when he gets up from his nap.
Me: Hi, E!
E: Dye. (Translation: Guy. His transitional object, but really it's just Guy.) (Could be "Dye." or "Die." but somehow "Dye." just seems nicer, and more in keeping with the vast pool of love felt for Guy.)
Me: Yes, there's Guy.
E: Dye. Door-tee. Dye.
Me: Guy isn't dirty. He's nice and clean. Remember? We washed him? He took a nice bath in the washer and now he's nice and clean. See? He smells good. (Sniffing him, but not his nose which E. sucks on and therefore it smells foul.) (Going for the long explanation.)
E: Door-tee Dye. Door-tee Dye. Door-tee. Dye.
Me: Guy isn't dirty, he's nice and clean. (Short and sweet explanation.)
E: E: Door-tee. Dye. Door-tee. Dye. Door-tee. Dye. Door-tee. Dye. Door-tee. Dye. Door-tee. Dye.
Me: You only need to tell Mommy when Guy is dirty because your tummy hurts and your whole bed reeks of vomit and you have semi-digested bits of food stuck in your hair. Otherwise, we're all good.
I'm just saying.
Posted by grrlTravels at December 23, 2004 6:49 PM