Milo loves superheroes. Batman is one of his favorites and he has loved his Batman figurine to nearly to death: the cape is gone, his face is worn off, and I don’t know what is going on with his ankles. I have thought about replacing the toy, but Milo still loves it and plays with it as is, and I think maybe there’s a lesson in continuing to enjoy things even after their shiny newness is gone.
Recently, when my sister came to visit, Milo made his toy talk to her, using a deep growly Batman-voice.
“My is Batman,” he said.
“Hello, Batman,” she said.
“Sometimes… my go pee-pee in my bat-suit,” he said, still in character.
My sister worked hard to keep a straight face. One of my favorite things about her is the endless delight she finds in the hilarity of her nephews. Just having her around laughing lightens the whole mood of our household and makes me remember to appreciate the daily comedy surrounding me. In this case Milo (as Batman) was not making a joke and my sister showed him the respect of not laughing in his face at his confession. She nodded seriously to Batman and then turned her head to make eye contact with me and I could see the laughter there in her eyes. I spoke up reassuringly.
“That’s okay, Batman,” I said. “Everyone has accidents sometimes.”
“Yeah,” he growled.
“Batman, what do you do when you pee-pee in your bat-suit?”
“My take it off and put it in laundry bin!” he said, confident and matter-of-fact (only he pronounces “laundry” as “yawn-dee”). My sister’s shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter.
“And then do you put on a fresh bat-suit?”
“Yep, my do.”
We will be laughing at that for years to come: Sometimes my go pee-pee in my bat-suit.
Last winter, when Milo was almost two and a half, I took this recording of him talking to me about “Thunder Batman”– a superhero of his own imagining: