One day when Scarlette was just settling into the phase where we could extract meaning from her words and understand her requests fairly well, even if they still needed translating for other people, she asked us for her yellow blanket.
We had no idea what she was talking about. We don’t own a yellow blanket.
We offered her all of her blankets that had yellow on them.
Then we offered her all of her blankets that had colors similar to yellow on them, despite the fact that she clearly knew and had been able to identify her colors for almost a year because, you know, toddlers.
Then we asked her to show us her yellow blanket to which she cried pitifully “No, you get dat yewwow bwanket for me! You get me my yewwow bwanket!”
In a moment of desperation I offered her the blanket off of our bed.
Later I took the laundry out of the dryer and pulled the little comforter that goes on her bed out of the basket.
It is pink. And white. And brown.
It’s not even remotely yellow.
And she buried her face into it, shrieking with glee “MY YEWWOW BWANKET! I FOT I LOST YOU!”
We picked out new bedding for her last week. It’s pink. And light pink.
It’s not yellow.
And when J arrived home she yelled “DADDY! COME WOOK AT MY NEW UDDER YEWWOW BWANKET!”