My in laws arrived this morning. Laura went with her grandfather to the park and Beatrice was in her grandmother’s arm most of the day. It is quite funny to see Laura’s confusion with the three languages and the meaning of words. She is calling her grandfather “vovo Beto”, who is my mother’s partner’s name (vovo is granddad, if you don’t know Portuguese). I told her that vovo Beto is in Brazil, and it is vovo
Vacile Vasile(*) who is here; but because of my pronunciation – I say “vasili” – Laura has been calling him “vovo Silly”. Sometimes she calls him tata (which is dad in Romanian, but it is how kids calls their grandfathers in the region they come from; tati (daddy) being for the actual father). On the grandmother side, it isn’t different. She was already calling my mother buni (short for bunica, which is grandmother in Romanian), but since they also say Mama for grandmother (same explanation of Tata), she called her grandmother “Mum” a couple of times. I don’t think she knows the difference between all these words. I have to say that I get confused as well. By the end of the month we were all be calling each other by “hey you” to avoid all the confusion.
(*) I keep writing his name wrong, “vacile” is pronounced “VAchilE” and means the cows. Ops.
So, if you live in Planet Earth you know that William and Kate had their baby boy a couple of days ago. People are either too excited with the news or too fed up. I have to say that I love everything about any pregnancy and birth, so I find everything exciting. Yes, it is a bit of a carnival, but who can blame them? It is a bit of a carnival in Rio at the moment with the Pope’s visit (let’s not get into details). I thought it was funny that the newspaper The Sun changed its name to The Son (it wouldn’t have been the case if it was a baby girl, uh?).
And all this baby talk makes me broody. Not just the royal baby talk, but finding out that a close friend is pregnant again, another one is finally on the 3rd semester and another one will give birth just after her 1st daughter turns 1 year old. I look at my very own Beatrice, so small, cute, and adorable, and I want to go back to the last days of pregnancy and live those final moments again, give birth again and hold that teeny tiny little baby in my arms again. I feel like there is even a big possibility of having a third one. But then I remember that kids grow and become teenagers and, geez, no thanks.