"Mmmmmm," he hums and licks...licks...licks and grins, "Everyone likes ice cream."
The little can carry on a conversation, eat, and be completely aware of any question asked by Oomi Zoomi in the other room. He is a multitasker at a very early age.
"Are you eating peanut butter, Mom?" he wants to know why I put my ice cream into the peanut butter container. It was a strange move, and I'm the only one not holding a cone. He notices this too. So, I nod in confirmation. As he looks away to see which piece helps solve some puzzle on the TV.
Meanwhile, he licks...licks...licks. White cream is dripping down his chin onto his blue sweatshirt. His play clothes have some bits of mud on the pant cuffs and paint on the elbow of the shirt. He spent a good portion of the day playing outside with his big brother and the next door neighbor little.
I'm pooped, but he seems alert and ready for a night of movies or other entertainment. The dessert is completely contained inside the cone now, after slurping the drips off the sides. He licks...licks...licks. He sets his cone down for a break and eats a couple more bites of banana. He thinks it's hilarious that he is using "this baby spoon" tonight.
The cone sits upright on the counter, looking a little soggy around the top edge. The little gets down from his perch on the bar stool. He finds his milk cup and takes a couple of big swigs. "I can take my milk in the living room?" he wants confirmation, knowing it has a lid and that lidded drinks are usually ok in there.
I answer, "Yes, but are you done with this ice cream cone?"
He runs back toward me in the kitchen, veering around the coffee table and making fast car noises. I think he is going to finish his treat, but as he looks up onto the counter at the ice cream, he turns away.
"My tummy is full," he whines.
Maybe we are all going to be done for the night.