Dinosaur Egg

It’s not what you think. It’s not an egg belonging to a dinosaur, but rather a scrap of scrambled egg that, according to my two and a half-year-old, resembles a dinosaur. And, in order to get the child to consume said “dinosaur egg”, I began to speak as Dinosaur Egg, who by now had become a proper noun. In a grumbly voice, I – I mean, Dinosaur Egg – requested that she, “Eat me up and put me in your tummy!”


Worked like a charm.


Except that I had to carry on a twenty minute dialogue with my daughter while she sent the rest of her eggs down the chute to join Dinosaur Egg in the depths of her belly.


This would all be well and good and slightly humorous if it weren’t for the fact that I spend the majority of my day doing voices. I’ve mastered her loveys, Bunny and Annuzah-one Bunny as well as Sweetheart Bear, their baby who is continually “misplaced” in order that they might have tearful reunions. I’m also pretty good at Mickey, Minnie, and Mr. Baby. I can do princesses, Darth Vader, and Boba Fett. I also do a stellar rendition of my car.


What’s that? You aren’t required to assume the personality of your vehicle in order to get your highly imaginative child to stop running in the parking lot and get in her seat for the love of all that is good and holy?


That’s just me? Awesome.


Mags actually loves talking to Car. She asks Car if he/she/it wants to look at Christmas lights (still) and warns about branches and red-light-stops and green-light-go’s…

“Um…Car? You wanna go to Car Church while I go to People Church?”

“Um…Car? You wanna go to Nana and Papa’s house?”

“Um…Car? You miss your sweetheart darlin’, Truck?”


Yeah. I talk for Daddy’s truck, too. I’ve given up hope that people in parking lots will think I’m just a cool, creative mom and not an absolute loony.


And now there’s Dinosaur Egg.


God, bless baby girls with fantastic minds and Lord, have mercy on their mama’s. Amen and amen.

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