Feets

There comes a time in every parents’ life that they must make sacrifices for their child. Today was one of those days.

I had to give up “feets.”

Every kid has special “words” that they utilize from time to time. And parents adapt. When Ben was two, Marti and I understood what he said perfectly — but to most people, he babbled. Who hasn’t endearingly used the word “pesgeddi” instead of “spaghetti”?

However, what is cute one year, is mortifyingly embarrassing and humiliating to a child the next. I remember my mother threatening to make me wear Luvs cute diapers as punishment for a bathroom accident when I was three, a horrifying moment that I am still scarred by. I was the youngest, but by god I was not a baby. She also used the word “track,” a word I made up to describe my nether regions, until I begged her to stop.

It’s amazing how it happens, really. One moment the innocent child is saying “Darn Vader” and it’s cute, the next moment they are giving you a stern look and saying, “That’s not the right way to say it, Mom, get it right.” Of course I know that. It has nothing to do with proper grammar. It has everything to do with my baby growing up.

Ben is only 3 years old (almost 4) but the other day, when I asked for his “feets” to put socks on, he gave me a stern look, used his most grown-up voice, and said, “It’s foot, mama. Not feets.” He could have been an English teacher reprimanding me for my poor usage of the English language with the imperious tone he commanded. I hung my head, penitent.

I just replied, “I know sweetheart. I know.” My baby is growing up.