Weebles are not little, hard plastic, weighted oval people. Little People are not little, hard plastic, stereotypical toy people.
A rubber duckie is not a bath toy.
Everything is a telephone. Even the palms of her tiny little hands.
Ella puts just about everything to her left ear and says, "Eroo?" Then, she hands the random toy out to me or Tom, because, apparently the person on the other end of the Elmo doll's butt, is asking to speak with us. The caller on the other end of the Cabbage Patch doll's face wants nothing to do with her, but has some information that Tom and I need to hear...supposedly.
She does this with all of her toys, except, ironically, toy phones. We recently found our old cell phone, and gave it to her to play with, in hopes that she wouldn't want to play with our current cell phone as much.
Nope. Ella only wants what we have.
And cucumbers are bananas, especially when not fully ripe. In fact, anything on our kitchen table has become a banana. I took a grapefruit from the fruitbowl on the table.
"Nuh-nana." Ella pointed at the grapefruit.
"No, baby, this is a grapefruit. Mommy's going to have a grapefruit."
She shakes her head, smiling. "Nuh-nana!"
"No, honey, grapefruit. Mommy will give you a banana after lunch today, okay?"
Ella shakes her head, reaching for the grapefruit. "Eh! Eh!"
"Here, then. Play with Mommy's grapefruit." I put it on her high chair tray.
Smiling, she bites into the thick peel. She stops smiling.
"Wasn't a banana, was it?"
Ella looks at me, confused. She hefts the grapefruit up to her left ear. "Eroo?"
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