Though my niece, E, is quick to tell you that she is "two, almost three" (complete with holding up the appropriate number of fingers), she is, in fact, two. A highly verbal two. B and I had the distinct pleasure of taking E out for a lunch date this weekend (more on that later) at her most favorite restaurant in the world: Chick-fil-a. No, not that one, the one with the good playplace.
We ate, she played, then, right as we were about to leave, she said, "I pooped, you need to change me." Even as I protested that we could just change her at home (the royal "we," of course), she sprawled out on the bench at the playplace and said, "Nope, here please."
So she and I headed off to the bathroom leaving a bewildered and helpless B with the command to order milkshakes for the ride home.
As we were getting settled in the bathroom, she looked at me and started this conversation...
E: Mommy and Daddy call you Jake.
Me (digging for wipes and clean diaper): Yes, they do.
E: Why do they call you Jake?
Me (trying to figure out if you kept pants and shoes on during a change): It's a nickname.
E: What's a nickname?
Me (figuring out why they'd put the trash exactly just beyond arm's reach from the changing table): It's a fun name that's just for you, but it's not your real name. Like how Mommy and Daddy call you Ellabella.
E: So I'm Ellabella, you're Jake, Mommy's Krissie, Daddy's Timmy, Sienna's Sienna-bo-benna, and B is.... What's B's nickname?
Me (refastening the world's tiniest pair of jeans): He doesn't have one, but you could give him one if you like.
E: I'm going to call him Hot Dog.
And she did. Proudly. The rest of the day. She'd go around the room (with no egging on by me or her dad... promise.) and pronounce B 'Hot Dog' again and again. I have this feeling that there's going to be a "Hi Hot Dog" moment at the alter... I can only hope.