conversations with a 2-year-old

Michael is climbing on the vanity in our upstairs bathroom, and I tell him he needs to get down quickly. Aside from the dangers of climbing in general, my major concern is he's going to eat his toothpaste. It's an ongoing issue.

I leave the room to get William, and when I walk back in Michael is back on the vanity.

"Michael Aaron," I say sternly, forcefully, " You need to get. down. NOW."

He jumps off with alacrity and comes running over, throwing his arms around my legs, and looking up at me with big worried eyes.

"I looking in the mirror, Mama, I handsome," he says. and smiles.

and I laugh.

******

I'm sitting on the bed with my computer on my lap, and Michael is curled against my side while I sort through photos.

"Who that?" he asks me, pointing at a stranger who wandered into a family picture.

"I don't know," I say. "Just a person."

"Oh," he says. "Just person. Hi, person!"

Clearly, he's not quite grasping the concept (how has he not learned the word person?), so for clarification I continue:

"Yep. You're a person, too."

He laughs. "No, I not. I not person."

"Yes, you are," I assure him. "You are a person. And mama's a person, and daddy's a person, and William's a person...we're all people."

But he's shaking his head forcefully. "No, I not person! I'm Michael."

"That's true," I respond. "You are Michael. And Michael is a person, just like Mama, and Daddy and everyone else."

"Yes," he allows. "Okay."

I stare at him suspiciously. I'm pretty sure he hasn't caught on yet.

"Michael's a person," I state again.

"I not person!" he cries.

"Michael," I begin,

"Shhhhhh, mama, no!" he says firmly. "Stop talking."

And he wags his little index finger at me.

"You're bossy," I inform him, and go back to editing pictures.