A year ago Gus would just tell me to just cut it out. But now, because he is three, he is more cunning.
“Mommy,” he said. “You have to stop singing so I can clap for you!”
“Okay, thanks, Gus!”
“YAY! YAY MOMMY! (Clap, Clap, Clap).”
I begin to sing another one.
“NO! STOP!” he says.
“What? You don’t like my voice?”
He shakes his head sadly. “No, I don’t.”
“But why?”
He shrugs. “I just don’t like it.”
“Is it bad?”
He pauses to think. “No. It’s not bad.”
“Then what?”
“It’s just … like … weird.”