A few months ago, the munchkin had decided that her new
interest was fake sneezing. Finding it to be the funniest thing imaginable, she
would use it as a measure to cheer herself up or to break the monotony of a conversation
her father and I were having, in which she was not included. It was endearing in some ways and a catch-22
in others.
When she decided that it was time to ‘hide’ (taking a piece
of clothing or one of the sheets from her bed), she would attempt to stay
quiet. Ultimately she would provide a clue to where she was hiding by ‘sneezing’
and then following it with a giggle. Her father and I would pretend we had no
idea where she was after said sneeze to keep up appearances. She would then pop
out from under the shirt or sheet so say ‘Peek-A-Boo!’
On a number of occasions, as I would walk down the street holding
munchkin’s hand, she initiated a process of sneezing in order to jump really
high into the air. Upon her landings, she often would drag me down or a bit to
the side. I did not quell her fun. (My perspective is that childhood is the one
time you are allowed to jump in the air without people looking at you like you
are insane. In fact, most people genuinely smile when they see the munchkin
doing this.) After almost every sneeze,
I would either say “Bless you!” or “That sneeze was so powerful, we should go
to the doctor and have her check it out.” The sneezing-jumping phase lasted for a few
weeks, which included the early period of her pre-school introduction.
There we were at drop off one morning when the little one
decided to fake sneeze in front of the head teacher. My face was aghast.
Munchkin reported to the teacher, “I got a powerful sneeze
so I should go to the doctor to make sure I feel better.”
The teacher responded, “Ok!”
Of course, I felt the need to explain that she was not sick
but fake sneezing. But am not sure how far that explanation went to pacifying
the teacher’s fear of powerful sneezes not being an indication of
sickness. What this incident also initiated
was a period where my tiny one would point out the obvious or inform people of
things that perhaps they did not care to know.
Some of the items include:
“Hey Mommy, you are short!”
“Mommy, your toe nails are purple.”
“Daddy, cover your mouth when you cough!”
“Mommy, you have food in your mouth so don’t talk!”
Who knows what she said to other people? These were examples
of the running commentary in my purview – as you can see most of them involved
pointing out my mishaps or flaws (I guess she learned something from Nonna
after all). After weeks of this behavior, I christened her ‘the informant’ because
she delivered every line like the roving reporter on the evening news broadcast
– matter-of-fact with no color commentary.
