boy purse

For a long time I didn't have a purse. I had a diaper bag that held pursey things. Then, when I started doing a lot of doula visits, I brought out one of my old purses and would move my wallet phone and some lotion to it before heading out for the visit. Gavin evidently noticed this switchup, because a couple months ago when I started using that purse on a regular basis in addition to a small diaper bag, he would periodically point to my purse and say "bee-bee" and proceed to tell a story about how mommy goes to help babies and takes the purse.

A couple of days ago, he started picking up a bag that held my knitting (now instead of having one bag that holds everything, I've got about 4 bags I lug around with me - purse, diaper bag, knitting bag, book bag. Methinks one bag be simpler.) putting the strap over his head and walking around saying "Burrrrsch. Bee-bee," indicating that he was taking this purse and going to help a baby.

This afternoon Gavin and I were getting ready to go to the library. I put some snacks in a small metal Bob the Builder lunchbox for him and handed it to him. Then, as I was getting out coats from the closet I saw him lugging a big zippered bag of blocks toward the door to the garage. Coats on, I opened the door and he said "Burrrrsch," which means purse, carried both the bag and the lunchbox into the garage, where he promptly dropped them and ran after a ball.

As I was strapping him into his carseat, he cried out, "Burrsch!! Burrsch!!!!" So I went and got his lunchbox, assuming that;s what he meant. "Nooooo!" he cried, pointing to where the bag was. "Burrrsch!" I went and picked the bag up and brought it over, which made him happy. "Yes," he said with a happy nod. "Burrsch."

And the purse story doesn't end there. No sirree. At the library, he wanted to take his purse. This wasn't going to happen as the "purse" is quite a large bag and I wasn't about to lug that around the library. I'm all about looking silly on account of my son, but that was going to extremes. So I packed a couple of the toys from the bag into his lunchbox, which seemed to satisfy him. In the library, each time he dropped the box (which he did often to look at this or that speck of something on the floor), he'd say "burrssch." Imagine the looks from people when I picked up the box and handed it back to him saying, "Here, Gavin, here's your purse."

On a non-purse related note, during his bath tonight, Gavin had a little tiny oval shaped piece from a shape sorter with which he was scooping up bathwater and drinking it. As he was scooping up a new cupful, he said "dop-vee," which is Gavinese for coffee. He drank about eighteen cups of "coffee" and was even kind enough to share with me. Thanks, kid, mighty thoughtful of ya, but I'll stick to the real thing.

conversation

The time is way too close to the butt-crack of dawn, this morning. The place, our bed. Gavin stops nursing and sits up.

"Owie," he says.

Groggily, I open one eye and peer through the dim light at him and ask, "Owie what?"

"Dchin," he says, and I can see him pointing at his chin, where a scrape of unknown origin had appeared the day before.

"Why does your chin hurt?" I ask.

"Down-down," says he.

"Downstairs?"

"Un-huh. Aydd."

"Egg?" I ask, confused.

"Uh-huh," he answers with confidence. "Durn, durn."

"The stove hurt your chin?" Turn turn is what he says to indicate turning on the burners. "when Daddy cooked you egg?"

"Uh-huh."

"Uhhh... okay. Go to sleep."

Thankfully, he did.