George Monkey

I believe it goes without saying that Elijah is the epitome of cute. From his floppy mop to his obsession with elephants to his saggy diapers, he just melts your heart.

So why would I try to force a cute affectation on him? Because I am an unfit father, that’s why.

Let me back up. My friend Pat Hanna and I like to swap cute kid stories. I think it is in a secret attempt to make sure our kids aren’t seriously deranged. “Eli bangs his head on the floor when he’s really ticked. Do…do your kids do that or do I have to take him to a baby psychiatrist?”

A while ago Pat and I were talking about our Toddler’s obsessions. After acknowledging that we can’t even count Elmo anymore, Pat mentioned his daughter Noley (HamannEggs trivia, Noley is Eli’s arranged prom date) loves Curious George. But she refers to him as “George Monkey.” She constantly asks, “George Monkey? George Monkey?”

Cut to me reading books to Eli. Some friends of ours gave us a nice package of Curious George books a few weeks ago. And Eli had taken a mild interest in them. Not the kind of interest he holds for any book dealing with potty training, but interest nonetheless.

So when he points to a Curious George book I immediately say, “George Monkey? George Monkey?” I think it’s a little bit of bad parenting to purposely refer to something by the incorrect name. Like calling bananas oranges and then sending him out into the world to forever be ridiculed at the supermarket.

Thankfully, Eli usually looks at me like I’m an idiot. I imagine him sitting around with the other toddlers in “Everybody Move” class.

“My Dada calls Curious George ‘George Monkey.’ Do…do your dads do that or do I have to take him to an adult psychiatrist?”