Gabe: "Daddy?"
Me: "He's at work, buddy."
Gabe: "Me?"
Me: "Sorry, buddy, you're too young to go to work."
Gabe: "Oh."
As the day goes on, Gabe's part of the conversation gets more urgent and my part of the conversation sounds more and more like a recorded message:
Gabe: "Daddy, Daddy?!?"
Me: "At work."
Gabe: "Me, me?!?!"
Me: "You can't work."
Gabe: "Oh."
Toward the end of the day, I start to amuse myself by providing long answers, in an attempt to see if it will change the course of our dialogue:
Gabe: "Daddy?"
Me: "Sorry, buddy, he's at work. Daddy goes to work and helps people with their computer problems. Sometimes their hard drives are fried, or their programs lock up, or sometimes people do silly things like just forget to plug things in all the way. Daddy's got some pretty good stories about the different calls he gets. You should ask him about them sometime."
Gabe waits for me to finish talking and then says: "Me?"
Me: "Well you can't work buddy, you're too young. In some countries I could send you off to work but here that would be illegal. I guess you could consider it 'work' when I make you pick up your toys...but then again, is that really 'work' or is it just teaching responsible toy ownership? I would say it's the latter. What do you think?"
Gabe: "Oh."
The kid definitely has a one track mind when it comes to the whereabouts of Bret.
In other news, Abby rolled over (front to back) for the first time last Thursday! Gabe's solution to tummy time was to fuss and whine and bury his face in the blanket until I took pity on him and declared tummy time over. Abby's solution is to take matters into her own hands and in short order she's usually flipped over and THEN starts fussing to be picked up. Guess she thinks her fussing will make a bigger impact if I can see her sad little face. Unfortunately for me, she's usually right. I'm such a sucker.
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