BSHJGgggg. Boom. RRRROar.
He’s king of the sound effects. It makes my proud feminist shoulders tense whenever I think the words, but within my very small sample size, it’s true: sound effects are a boy thing.
At least, they’re a my boy thing.
Babyhood is falling off of him like the downy fluff off of an adolescent chick. Or maybe boyhood is popping out like the scraggly adult feathers, creating a beautiful, awkward, molted effect.
There are moments, mostly in the early morning and late at night, when he’s all baby. He snuggles and kisses and asks to sit in my lap. He pats my arm with his chubby hand, settles his cheek on my shoulder, and sighs heavily, like he’s come home. I breathe those moments in as deeply as possible.
But he’s busting out of his not-so-footy pajamas. He’s constantly zooming, roaring, and POWing with some gadget or another. (We’ve convinced him that those shooting toys he builds out of legos must shoot sticky jelly beans, of course, only freezing opponents for a few seconds.) He’s in love with the shapes of letters and the sounds of words.
This is a beautiful in-between moment, full of rhyming and many books with him snuggled in my lap. I can still (barely) see over his head while we read. I’m learning the correct sound to accompany each of his favorite trucks. I may learn them all before he learns all of his letters and graduates to big boy games all on his own.