My son, A’veri, is a two year old with a 30 year old momma’s boy trapped inside him. He truly scares me sometimes, the way I can hold a mature conversation with him and almost forget that two years ago he didn’t exist. I come home from work with him walking in right behind me. He takes off his coat and hat and drops his bag on the couch, and then walks right in the kitchen to pour himself some juice. He carefully goes into the refrigerator pulls out the giant Hawaiian Punch bottle and places it on the floor. He then gets his cup and places it on the floor.
I watch him struggle with the bottle for about five minutes, until he finally looks up at me and says, “Mommy, Can I have some juice, please?” smiling with his baby gap sparkling. I asked him why he didn’t ask me in the first place, instead of trying to do it himself. He says, “‘Cuz, I can do it.” I had to say, “Well do it then.” As I walk away. He runs in front of me to stop me from going up the stairs and says, “No mommy, I want some juice. Let’s go, please.” Then he takes my hand to lead me back into the kitchen. After I poured him the juice, he says, “Thank you, sweetie” Something I say to him on a regular basis.
I watched him drink the juice, after each sip smacking his lips in satisfaction. He looks up at me with those huge brown eyes and says without warrant, “Mommy, Luv you!” I smile, getting up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m a man, right?” He asked me. “No, A’veri. You are a boy.” I correct him. He looks at me puzzled and says, “No, mommy, you a boy!” in the same fashion as I just did. “Fine, A’veri. We are both boys” I answered laughing at his mistake. He asked, “Dada a boy?” without thinking I answered, “Sometimes, sugar, sometimes!” then I laugh hysterically at my own joke. A’veri laughs hard with me then puts his hands up to give me a high five. Do you think he knew what I was talking about?