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March 29, 2002 - Friday
I hate "uppy."
"Uppy, mom." "Uppy, uppy, uppy":wrists and hands flapping from arms held shoulder high.
It means pick me up and, for some reason, I just find it particularly grating. Why? Well, it's baby talk for one thing, from a little boy who already knows how to talk much better than that. Yeah, I know, Harry's only two and probably doesn't know any better. He probably picked it up innocently enough from daycare. But, there's something sickeningly saccharin about "uppy," like a child reading from a script and trying to be cute, that is minimally offputting. And, heck I think Harry does know better than to descend into whining as a way of achieving desires. Baby talk is an unnecessary regression for Harry, and when it's accompanied by the inevitably whiny voice and faux-pathetic face it the kind of things to make all those "we don't want kids" couples feel like they're on to something.

I mostly try to ignore "uppy," although I have asked if he means he wants me to pick him up. And, he'll usually respond with a more dignified, "pick me up" sometimes even with a "please" thrown onto the end for earnestness. I'll pick him up.

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