I don't know how it happened, but G is part dinosaur.
We discovered this about two weeks ago while we were getting ready to leave the house. G was playing on the floor while John and I were brushing our teeth in the bathroom. He was beginning to complain with a few wahhhs; he also was banging his poor singing caterpillar on the floor because he couldn't get it to sing the numbers song again. As I finished brushing my teeth, I heard this terrible, long, high-pitch squawking. I scurried over to the baby to check on him half expecting to find a rather large dying seagull perched next to my baby. Much to my surprise, I found only G, who was seated on the floor smiling at the now-singing caterpillar instead of banging it incessantly on the carpet. My precious little baby let out another long, terrible, glass -shattering squeal. John came into the room to check and see if he should bring his shotgun out to put the dying bird out of its misery. He also discovered that there was not a monstrosity of a bird nearby.
It was then that we realized our adorable five-month-old boy was, indeed, part pterodactyl. You thought dinosaurs were extinct? Not in my house. This pterodactyl call is used by our dinosaur, who is cleverly disguised as a cute and cuddly baby, whenever something is terribly exciting or completely Earth-shattering.
Mommy's sleeping in the other room? "Uh oh," G thinks, "that's no good. I better fix it."
Out comes the hair-raising shrill of a baby pterodactyl.
Daddy's eating pizza and won't let G smear his hands in the sauce? "Not acceptable," thinks G. "I'll show him!"
The ear-piercing squeal explodes from his little lungs.
The singing caterpillar has ceased to sing his songs about the color red? "Red alert," thinks G. "I'll teach him!"
Another lingering screech permeates our formerly serene living room.
Unfortunately, I think G may be in search of other pterodactyls because he has been using his call in the grocery store and other public places. Perhaps he is trying to summon them to help him gang up on John and me when we won't let G do the things he desperately wants to do .... like grab the hot pan off of the scalding stove or stick his hands inside his poopy diaper during a diaper change. I know, I know -- we're really unreasonable parents. I read in a book that I should whisper to him when he's engaged in full squawk; the book assured that G would get the idea to lower his voice. However, it seems that he just maximizes the volume during my attempts to snuff out the call.
Strangers often comment about G's cuteness. Just a few days ago the nice check-out lady at the local Jewel complimented his big, cornflower-colored eyes. I thanked her as I tried to swipe my card through the credit card machine. G reached for the card at the same time, realized he couldn't reach it and let out his infamous call. The cashier looked alarmed. But what's a mama to do beside smile and laugh it off? My baby speaks dinosaur in the dialect of pterodactyl; there's no explaining that to someone who doesn't have a little one that also randomly seeks the company of fellow dinosaurs disguised as babies.