The conversation

It's good to know that when AR neglected to pay for the paper she found living without it to be liberating and life-affirming. I, however, missed my morning date with the Oregonian. I'm no news hound, (not since I gave up journalism anyway, the same day Kerry conceded the election - coincidence?) But it's nice to have another adult viewpoint in the room while I breakfast with the boy.

The Boy is good company, and I do love spending time with him, but I find our conversations somewhat lacking. The other day, I had lunch with a brilliant and interesting friend of mine from college. He brought along two other brilliant and interesting friends. I brought The Boy. The BIFs started talking about human-computer interaction theory, semiotics and something else I lost track of while I had the following conversation with The Boy:

HIM: Boo tuck, BOO tuck, BOO TUCK!
ME: Yes, that is a blue truck.
HIM: Yellow!
ME: Yes, that's a yellow truck.
HIM: TOO tucks, TOO tucks, TOO tucks, TOO tucks TOO -
ME: Yes, you have two trucks.
HIM: aaugharuuguhlagor.
ME: Please sit up and stop gargling your fruit cup.

See, this is what I'm talking about: I had an opportunity for the first time in months to converse on a highly intellectual level, but at least fifty percent of my brain was occupied with the color of small, wheeled, metal objects while trying to stop my small, squirmy, demanding creature from escaping the confines of his high chair so he could run around the restaurant and stare at other diners. It made me think of my new friends here: all mommies for the most part, all intelligent with a good sense of humor, and what do we end up talking about? Potty training and nap times. Maybe some other stuff too about snacks or something, but who can remember when you're not really paying attention to what people are saying because your toddler is trying to crawl under the dog.

So it's not just The Boy who limits the caliber of our conversations; his mom isn't doing such a great job holding up her end either. And this is where I have a problem. I love that I can stay home with The Boy, spend time with him, nurture him - it's great for the kid! I'm just not so sure it's great for me. Of course, it could just be that I'm in my mid-thirties now so the mind is shot. I can't help thinking, however, that I have at least a few good years of thinking left in me, and what if they're all gone by the time the kid enters kindergarten?! All I can say is aaugharuuguhlagor.