Thank you all for your kind words and warm wishes. My daughter is much better, back to playing and yapping and all her normal tricks. We appreciate all your thoughts.

Lest you think I'm all sainted and motherly, I conveniently didn't mention horrifing one nurse by saying I thought the hospital should skip giving away formula samples and instead should tuck a stun-gun and cattle prod in each diaper bag. Then I horrified another one when she asked if I was getting stiff, stuck in that rocking chair.

Some of those 'deep thoughts' I was having involved the women I've heard of who orgasm when they run or bicycle, and I was wondering if there was a corresponding rocking chair possibility, and also, wouldn't that be really ridiculous and inappropriate at a time like that. Since my thighs were burning from all the rocking, when she asked how I was doing, in my head, I said "I'm getting a good thigh workout." Instead, when I opened my mouth, out flew "I'm using this as a chance to get some serious Kegals in." She looked stunned.

Anyway...

We've reached that stage with my youngest where she is speaking clearly and in complete sentences, which, like every other achievement in early childhood, is a good/bad thing.

Yeah! She's crawling. Wait. She can crawl. Crap.

She made it all the way to the top of the stairs by herself! Hooray. And holy moly. That's frightening.

Wooo! She can tell us exactly what she wants! Oh.My.Goodness. She has been ranting at me all day.

So yes, double edged sword and all that. Moving on.

She, like most kids, has several 'words' that she speaks clearly, deliberately, that aren't English, and I suspect aren't human. One of these words has something to do with the freezer, and it has become a source of intense frustration for both my daughter and myself.

"Mama. I want gay-gor-REE!"

I have been through this a few times, so I station myself in front of the fridge, hand on the freezer handle. "Show me, okay?"

"Okay. Open the door. Where is gay-gor-REE? I want it. Gay-gor-REEEEEEE."

I sigh. "Yeah, okay. Can you point to it?" She makes waving motions at the open freezer and seizes a bag of peas and waves that, and then tosses it back inside in frustration. "Gay-gor-REE, mama. Not peas. Not peas."

"Okay, so gay-gor-REE, it's not peas. Can you eat it?"

She giggles and kicks her feet. "Possicle, please."

"Gay-gor-REE is a popsicle?" I feel like a code breaker hot on the trail.

"No. Silly mama. I want gay-gor-REE. I need gay-gor-REE."

And so it goes, round and round. I've emptied the freezer, fridge, pulled down the board games stored on the top, done dances, recited poetry. I've even written the word gaygorree on a piece of paper and handed it to her. No dice.

The best part of this exchange is she has this look. The OMG, woman, you are SUCH an idiot look. It's a real treat to be knocked down a peg by a two year old, I tell you.

Anyone have any ideas?

*Update* Mystery solved! Gay-gor-REE = generic pedialyte popsicles, but only the green ones, and only when they are NOT frozen. She started squealing when she spotted the liquid ones I was loading into the freezer, and when I handed her a blue one, she said "No. Azul." and the orange one? "Moooooommy." The red one? "Rojo. Not gaygorREE." She positively purred when I handed her a green one. GaygorrrrrrrRRRRRRRRREE. So there you have it.

I think it's a mutation of "wiggly" and "green" but I'm stretching. Also, she's never had gatorade in her life.