Today, Benny tried to distract Hazel from a meltdown (Millie was eating her favorite book... again) by asking her to count the "owies" on his hands. Owies, of course, being blisters from pullups at Crossfit. Seriously... Benny has princess hands that tear like a fine muslin fabric. He can just walk by the pullup bar and get a blister on his hand. It's totally sexy.
So, while I was changing Millie, Hazel started counting the owies. "Two, tree, foe, figh, sis, seben, eight..."
Here's the thing. We knew that she could count to three... albeit, skipping "one". But she's got the two and three down. What neither of us realized is that our little 22-month-old could count to eight (still skipping the one, but yea... you get the point).
Benny and I looked at each other and simultaneously said: DID YOU TEACH HER THAT?
No. That would be the teachers at school. Sadly, I'm the mom who doesn't think that her kid is ever old enough to learn anything. So, whenever Hazel throws out a new word, I'm blown away. Especially when it's a word that we haven't been practicing. The other day, she looked at a picture of a hen and said "chikin". This was right before she showed me an aphid on her arm while saying "bug". Which was seconds before she handed me a toy tea cup, staring at it intently and saying "bug"... which turned out to be a freakin' SPIDER.
In a related note, I have managed to teach Hazel to scream like a little girl.
So, I've got that going for me.
1 comment:
It takes a village. They taught her to count, you taught her I love you. You win.
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