The Pointing Games

Just to clear up any initial confusion upfront, the Pointing Games isn't nearly as exciting or cool as the Hunger Games.  There are no special weapons, omniscient announcements, tracker jackets, falling gifts from the sky, or Liam Hemsworth involved.  However, the common thread comes down to human survival skills-- physical survival in the Hunger Games and mental survival and endurance in the Pointing Games.

Dylan has magically surpassed another grand milestone seemingly overnight, and he is absolutely thrilled silly with himself now that he can point his little index finger all on its own in any direction he chooses to wield it.  This is a BIG deal in baby land-- where just a few days ago he was flapping his whole hand to indicate things, he's discovered now that if he closes his fingers one by one, leaving just his index finger up, he can point to things using said finger and Mommy will name them for him.  Let the Pointing Games commence!

The first time I noticed he was actually pointing at something (naturally the first thing he pointed at was a ceiling fan-- his favorite all-time worldly object), I was dorkifiably ecstatic, showering him with high praise for achieving such a smart developmental milestone.  My Proud Mommy ego was all 'did you see THAT?!  Those are some advanced fine motor skills my awesome super-little-man has mastered.'  I shared his wonder and amazement as he studied his little fingers, willing them to slowly close one at a time in the difficult coordinated method that would allow him to make such a significant gesture.  I wanted to encourage him to keep pointing at things for practice, so I would name whatever he was pointing at in a happy, excited voice, and then he would point to other things to elicit another enthusiastic response from mom.  I'm thinking 'gee, this is so great!  He's learning so many new words, and he's going to have such impressive vocabulary skills, once he starts talking.'  

(Pause for a dramatic sigh of defeat)

In hindsight, I now regret expressing such amateur-mom enthusiasm from the get-go, as my mind has gone numb from cheerfully saying 'tree, bush, car, street sign, plant, dog, car, flower, another tree, grass, bush, car, another bush, another bush, street sign, tree, street light, car, truck, dog, tree, bush...,' and that's just on one brief 10 minute wagon ride.  There's only so much excitement a person can muster for a bush (that looks exactly like the 10 other bushes we've already named!).  My mental endurance wanes with every repetitive word, and I know I will not be the victor of these Pointing Games.  While Dylan's vocabulary may be exponentially growing, mine seems to be rapidly deteriorating.  When Dylan finally says 'Mom, thanks for teaching me everything I know (on his first birthday),' I'll respond with 'goo goo gah, bah vava bah'- the remnants of my once awesome communication skills.  

It's getting dark outside, so I better find a cave to curl up in and get some rest to restore my brainpower, so that I can face a new dawn tomorrow in this warped psuedo-reality called Parenthood.  :)

May the odds be ever in your favor, manic moms. 

Claire