Professor Dump Truck

It was an enriching two weeks with Jim the Baby Nephew and his mighty fleet of gucks. The season rained a great many gucks down upon Jim, and they all had to be taken out of their original packaging, which was designed for inventory control purposes by Satan. There were plastic trays and industrial tape and twist ties, all of which resulted in the introduction of large sharp pointy objects into the play area, not to mention a tidy pile of choke-ready twist ties. Thanks, PlaySkool. Way to go, Mattel. I enjoy your attempts to kill my godchild. It was good times on Christmas morning:

ME: Look, Jim! Aunt Beth freed your truck for you! It took her twenty minutes and three college degrees! Here you go!

JIM: (Does not care, as fifteen minutes ago he began ordering his grandfather to open another, entirely unrelated toy.)

Santa Claus also brought Jim a full-service kitchen, and when I raised my eyebrows at Daddy, he said, "Are you aware of Emeril's net worth?"

You should see this thing. Jim has a stand-alone mixer, a coffee maker, and a scale. It's far better equipped than my kitchen, and I have a job.

Da and Mama are very serious about non-gendered toys, as Jim also collected a baby doll. He cuddles it and lays it down on various surfaces, saying, "Shhhhhhhhh." I was concerned that he was becoming overly womany until the morning he spiked the baby headfirst to the hardwood floor, then tenderly "Shhhhhhhhh"ed. Good! That's pretty much how I cared for my doll babies, and look how wonderfully maternal I turned out.

There's one thing Jim is very good at, however, and is that is Loving Meeeeeeee! "Where's Jim?" we will say, and he will absolutely beam and tap his royal chest. He loves himself. I gave him a tree ornament with a little picture of himself inside his Christmas card, and he lit up, kissing his own image and hugging himself to him. He is what Trump must have been like before potty training. "You are your favorite you!" his father says when this type of behavior is unleashed. I cannot imagine from whence his attitude issues; it can't possibly be the fact that every single adult around him is constantly referring to the fact that he is the smartest, cutest, most wonderful child ever to enter the universe.

We had several intense vocabulary expasnion sessions-- "dump truck", "cup", "Mama," "antidisestablishmentarianism", and my name. Some words went better than others:

ME: Who loves Jim?
JIM: An Beeeeeaaaaaath!

I was working on adding a salute when the time for my return flight rolled around.

However, sometimes the new trick backfires, including the fact that his inflection on An Beeeeeaaaaaath! is exactly the same as what happens when you ask him what the cow says:

ME: Jim, did you see any dump trucks today?
JIM: An Beeeeeaaaaaath!

email Meeeeeeee! at: mb@blondechampagne.com