I’m deeply concerned that Oscar is not yet reading classical literature.  I think we’ve been spending too much time playing “This Little Piggy Went to the Market,” which is a disturbing but deeply satisfying game which ends with much nom nom nom of Oscar’s toes. I can see him in therapy now:

“My mother had this really sick fascination with my toes…”

The doctor nods solemnly and writes on his clipboard, “This one can’t be saved.”

So in order to improve Oscar’s language skills we’ve been practicing our words.  Several times each day I put him in my lap and try to get him to talk. It usually goes like this:

“Oscar, Oscar, say Mama. Say Mama.”

Silence.

“Oscar, say Papa. Say Papa. Say Da Da? Da?”

Silence. Crickets.

“Oscar, don’t you love your Mama?”

He looks at me, takes my hand, and lays it against his cheek. My heart melts. Then he turns his head and goes CHOMP, biting my hand as hard as he can. I involuntarily yell “OW!”

Oscar looks at me, smiles, and says, “OW!”