sursly

For comparison: Jonah on August 2nd, 2005, and on June 2nd, 2007:

Not that we’re about to get all sappy and nostalgic over 22 months, but now we can feel better about telling everyone he’s “almost two” rather than saying “21 months” and watching people scratch their heads to quickly do the simple math only to figure out he is, actually, almost two.

Granted he looks like a bit of a giant compared to most kids his age, I still can’t seem to accurately guess the age of any infant, toddler, child, whatever, under the age of 14, and even that is a stretch. I like to think that I have improved at this “profiling” a little bit, but it has always been a struggle.

It doesn’t help that you can’t ask a kid how old they are, either. Well you can, but you can’t trust them, just like no one should trust Jonah when he is asked his age and replies: “Yellow.”

And to make matters worse, for some reason – since Jonah learned how to say this word – anyone that doesn’t have facial hair or boobs or is under 5′ 3″ is a “baby.” As the present stay-at-home-person Megan has run into this a lot, and told me many stories of how our little toddler has pissed off 3 or 4 or 8-year-olds by calling them “baby.” But don’t they deserve to be called that if they can’t take smack-talk from my 22-month-old son?

Not that Jonah is trying to be mean, or sees anything wrong by it. He loves other kids, all kids. Babies, teens, whoever (unless they try to swipe one of his Elmo toys). And maybe this is just something leftover from our overuse of the word for the first year of his life. But it makes for some grumpy kids and weirded-out parents.

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