You would think that by the age of 37, I would have the ability to let the little things slide. In general, this is actually something I take a little pride in.
But poking holes in self-perception is one of the reasons children were invented.
Spencer loves to speak in jibberish. Who cares, right? Big whoop. So he jabbers on, with no meaning, no purpose. No sweat.
I. Can't. Stand. It.
It drives me completely insane. I have actually told him to "speak in English!" and then have this crushing sense of being the evil mother that belittled his creative spirit at a very young age, forever scaring him and limiting his potential to ever become the next Picasso.
Jibberish shows creativity. It shows imagination. It shows he isn't stuck in this A-type, purpose driven, goal-oriented cage I keep striving for.
It shows he really knows how to push my buttons...
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