Mike was gone last week, gallivanting around Florida* in celebration of a friend who is getting married soon.
He left Thursday night and returned Sunday night and the time really flew by in a whirlwind. That might be because I spent three straight days concentrating on what in the world “bah-day” means.
It started on Friday when I picked Ryan up from daycare. At first, he performed his usual routine of pointing out every car within a one-mile radius. But as I buckled him into his car seat, he suddenly looked at me and yelled “BAH-DAAAAAAY!”
And I stared at him blankly and mumbled something like, “Excuse-me-huh? Bah-day?“
He realized instantly that I had no Earthly idea what he wanted and he began bawling. The saddest, loudest, most heart-wrenching wail. Like I decapitated his beloved stuffed Dumbo or something.** And I’m trying to explain to him that I want to help him, I want to understand, but “bah-day” isn’t a word and he was going to have to pick another one.
Upon returning home, I began offering him anything I could think of that might possibly be “bah-day.” Including – but not limited to – water, the birthday song and bath time. Alas, none of these things are “bah-dah,” and he sobbed at my insensitivity.
In between “bah-day” incidents, which occurred at sporadic times during weekend, we did manage to have a little fun, playing outside, running errands and eating the World’s Largest Burnt Pizookie.
Anyway, Mike is back now and I warned him about the mysterious bah-day requests and we discussed strategy*** for solving the puzzle.
But we don’t need to implement our strategic plan. Because today, I figured it out.
Happy-go-lucky Ryan was again pointing out all the cars in metropolitan Phoenix as we began driving home from daycare, when I glanced over my shoulder and said, “Ready to go home, dude?”
And he pointed straight at my face and said, “BAH-DAY,” paused a moment to wait for an answer and started crying when I stared at him blankly.
The wheels turned in my head as I mentally compared the differences between Mommy Inside Daycare and Mommy Outside Daycare.
“Uh. You want Mommy’s sunglasses?“
There you have it. Bah-day. Sunglasses.
*I recently did some gallivanting myself on a girls’ trip, so I encouraged Mike to go. Mostly because Mike + bachelor party = less mom guilt for going on my trip. And isn’t that what parenting and marriage are all about? Minimizing guilt.
**Which of course, I would never do and have gone so far as to have family and friends search both Disneyland and Disney World this year for a back-up Dumbo should somebody else get crazy and decapitate him.
***Our strategy begins and ends with “Ask Ms. Rada.” Cuz if his daycare teacher doesn’t know, let’s face it: we’re out of luck.