Uh-Oh

Owen's vocabulary has regressed. He used to say Mama and Dada and make intelligible enough noises to convey "yes" and "no." But now he only says one very appropriate word.

"Uh-oh."

He's remarkably expressive with this one word. By his inflection, posture, pace, and cadence he's able to convey poetry in just those two little syllables. Granted, most of the poems are about dropping inappropriate objects into the toilet, but still...poetry. He says it languidly, and always at a slightly softer dynamic than his normal level of verbal noise. He makes no pretense of being genuinely surprised at whatever he's "uh-oh"--ing, but you really do believe it's an authentic expression of reaction. More than his older brother ever did at his age, Owen makes eye contact. If you're in the room with him, he'll turn his head towards you before he says it, and then with big blue eyes turned up towards yours his mouth opens and, "uh-oh."

As I said, it's become his only word. He says it, of course, whenever anybody drops something or knocks something over. Sometimes, as a precautionary measure, he'll say "uh-oh" BEFORE he drops an object out of his crib throws a handful of food out of his high chair. It's best not to take chances, after all, when you can avoid them. But "uh-oh" extends to so many other situations, as we've discovered. If he tips over while walking, it's "uh-oh." If he stands up from a sitting position, that's "uh-oh" as well. If anyone opens or closes a door or a cabinet, that's "uh-oh." Opening the oven door, opening a bag of apples, taking off or putting on one's shoes--all "uh-oh."

My entry into his room this morning was greeted with an "uh-oh," although this was probably merited, as he had his arm wedged between two of his crib slats and his leg between three others, effectively pinning himself in place. He also said "uh-oh" upon seeing J, although we couldn't determine the reason for this. (Was it the fact that she was wearing glasses? Did he think her hair was disorderly? Did he think his hair was disorderly?) He certainly does greet every sight of himself in the mirror with an "uh-oh," and anytime he sees a stranger or a dog passing by on the street. (This is also followed by furious waving.)

Any attempt by his parents to clean a room or prepare a meal is an occasion for "uh-oh." Disconcertingly, we often hear soft "uh-ohs" from the other room when we aren't present. We never know whether the boy is simply stuck on the threshold from the dining room to the library, or whether one of us left the bathroom door ajar and he's trying to drop his sippy cup into the potty. (Again.) We cannot tell whether his obnoxious walker is on low batteries again (the demise of this noisy machine would not merit an "uh-oh" from either of us) or whether he managed to crawl up a chair and is standing on the table. (Again.) He might have dropped a plastic tool behind the couch, or he might have just turned over a basket of freshly folded laundry. (For the third time today.)

Yes, Owen needs to expand his vocabulary. My personal goal is to teach him the phrase: "The catastrophe that I'm currently engaged in is______." If he could fill in the blanks for us we wouldn't need to hurry away from our coffee to determine whether or not his "uh-oh" is supposed to signify "I can no longer see the train on my sock" or "I have pulled down a cutting board and two sharp knives from the kitchen island."

Guess what he's saying out in the family room even as I hurry up and publish this blog.