We went to dinner with some friends on Monday night to meet their new baby boy, Sawyer. (Isn’t that the most adorable name? I love it. AND, the baby slept through the entire meal – TWO HOURS! I can only hope that Baby Dragon sleeps like that because Q sure didn’t!)
Anyhoot, as usual, Quinn made a new friend. The girl at the next table was very excited at the prospect of having a playmate, except she learned a valuable lesson about the fragility of the male ego.
She made the mistake of calling Quinn a “little boy.”
I didn’t hear it, but I assume she said something totally innocent, like, “Hi, Little Boy” or “Want to play, Little Boy?” or “Let’s be best friends forever and ever, Little Boy.”
Well, this did not go over well with Q. After several weeks of telling him what a big boy he is now that he sleeps in a Big Boy Bedroom and in a Big Boy Bed, being downgraded back to “Little Boy” was more than he could bear. His wails began immediately, and big alligator tears streamed down his cheeks.
It would’ve been heartbreaking if it weren’t so funny.
We reassured Quinn that the girl just misspoke and that she meant to say “Big Boy.” Then she brought over some toys to share with him, they hugged it out, and Quinn got over it… for the moment.
Quinn has mentioned the incident repeatedly over the last two days, looking for further validation that he is, in fact, a big boy. “That little girl called me a little boy, Mommy,” he says, and I reinforce that she meant to say “big boy.” “Yeah, I’m a big boy,” Q agrees. “I sleep in a big boy room now.”
The irony is that Quinn refers to the girl as “that little girl,” and she’s older than he is.