"Oh look! Two babies!"
An innocuous comment, and one I hear pretty much every time I go out in public. And one that irritates me; quite irrationally, I suppose.
They're not babies.
As DOB could confirm, with rolling eyes, I start mourning the end of babyhood when I pack up the 0-3 month clothes (with the ducklings, at about 2 months.) By six months--when they have some mobility, an attention span, and the ability to grab things--I subconsciously consider them to be well into childhood, and as far as I'm concerned, D1 is practically an equal--not in authority, but in status.
Maybe it's because I still remember the sting of always being too young. Maybe it's because I'm so incompetent they catch up with me pretty quickly. (I'm amazed by people who continue feeding their kids for a couple of years because it's neater that way. When I feed them, it's not. At all.) Maybe it's because I'm so far off in la-la land I don't care about their very different approaches to the world; indeed, I think them quite fascinating.
Typical scene in the duchy: DOB comes home.
DOB: Why is D1 wearing D2's jacket and standing at the kitchen sink, splashing water all over herself?
QOC: Ummm . . . she wanted to. And, ummmm, it's warm, so I don't think she'll get pneumonia. And I've figured out that the amount of water she wastes running down the sink is less than the amount of water she would use if I bathed her more often.
DOB: So two wrongs make a right? (teasingly, folks, teasingly)
QOC: Well, they cancel each other out in water usage!
On a possibly related note, there was a mom and grandma at the park yesterday with what looked like twin five-year-old boys. One of the boys went over to the grassy area and started pulling up dandelion puffballs and blowing on them.
"Get off the grass and go play on the playground!" his mother yelled.
My puzzlement was somewhat enlightened when his brother tried to run off the opposite direction, toward the trees.
"Don't go back there, you'll run into a bee!" she yelled.
Ah, so a paranoia of bees was the problem. It did make a little more sense, although not much, because D1 and I had been watching a bee over by the swings. Plus, it didn't explain why it was an offense against humanity to climb up the slides or to rest one's feet on them when one was sliding down.
Perhaps I am evil, but I silently cheered the boy when, while his mother was distracted with talking, he went back to the dandelions.
What's the fun of going to a playground if you don't get to play? Why go to all the trouble of having kids if you don't like playing with them?
So, to sum up: Don't call the ducklings babies. Have some fun when you go to the playground. But watch out for bees.