Can I Take the 5th?

I have become convinced that somehow, I have given birth to the world's smallest defense attorney. Or prosecutor. Whatever. Today has been an endless round of questions, answers, more questions, more answers...and this, from the time she woke up at 6am until, um, now. I think she stopped when she took a nap, but I can't be sure.

All of which, I am told, is normal for a three year old. She's trying to start a conversation, and more power to her. But my ears are pretty much worn out and her dad is hiding under his desk upstairs (just kidding; he's upstairs playing a computer game) so I think it's a safe bet his ears are getting worn out too. The conversations have gone like this:

R: Whatcha doing, Mommy?

Me: Putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

R: What's a dishwasher?

Me: (looking at her over the tops of my glasses): What do you think a dishwasher is?

R: A dishwasher washes dishes!

Me: Very good. (Turning on the dishwasher.)

R: Mommy, what's that noise?

Me: *bangs head on counter*

It's not the first time she's heard a dishwasher, mind. And we seem to have the conversation about dishwashers and what they do at least once or twice per day, depending on how often we have to do the dishes. All of which taps into one of my pet peeves: having to repeat myself to someone who knows the answer.

I'm trying to be patient. I don't want my daughter to complain that her mom never listened to her, because that's not it. I know she knows what a dishwasher is, or whatever else the topic is, and is just asking because she's trying to figure out how conversations work, the give and take of things. And we're trying to teach her the rules of polite conversation too---not interrupting, not talking through or over the adults who are talking at the same time. I know it's all normal, and necessary and all that, but I think I'm about ready to plead the 5th and hush up now. Maybe then my little attorney will stop questioning me for a bit. :-P

The Age of Reason. Sort of :)

I'm home today---my husband has a nasty migraine (though really, is there any such thing as a non-nasty migraine?) and has been suffering from it since about o'dark thirty this morning. So it's pretty much me and Roisin today. This, coming on top of the Cold Virus of Doom (which we all had over Yule and are all---still---trying to get over) makes me really want to go throw a pity party, table for three. We're all just getting sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Which brings me to my daughter. She's had the crud since Christmas day (and for one of Dante's rings of hell, nothing quite matches a sick, cranky three year old with parents who've had roughly three hours sleep between them.) When Roisin is sick, she alternates between being cranky and being clingy. But as she's been getting better, I've noticed something.

I can reason with her now.

No, I'm not talking about advanced level discourse---we'll not be solving the problems in the middle east anytime soon, or ending the war in Iraq. But she's getting to the point now where I can talk to her and at least explain what she's doing wrong and what Rob or I have asked her to do. I don't pretend that she immediately does it, or that we don't have to repeat ourselves---she's three, after all. But it's the difference between not being able to explain to her (because she wouldn't get it) and being able to communicate fully with her.

It's a nice change, if a little unnerving at times. She's changed so much in just the last year---it wasn't so long ago that we were seriously considering having her evaluated for a possible speech delay. But to look at her now...she's growing more into her own person. And I wonder what else she'll tell us.