"I let Emmaline watch Dora the Explorer," Daryl said to me sheepishly this morning as he was reading her a book in our bed.
He pointed at the picture on the page before them.
"Moon," he said. Then, "La luna."
I shot him a look of disbelief.
"What?" he asked. "Dora speaks Spanish."
I know Dora speaks Spanish. In the ER Dora speaks Spanish while I sew up lacerations. She speaks Spanish while I staple cuts deep in scalps and covered in hair and blood.
"Backpack!" I say as I pick up my needle driver and pull the edges of a gaping wound closer together.
I am well acquainted with this particular Nickelodeon creation, well enough anyway to wonder where her parents are while she traipses through the jungle.
I had been at work yesterday and Daryl and Em had discovered the on demand cartoon episodes in our Netflix queue. Strictly speaking, the American Academy of Pediatrics does not recommend any screen time at all before age two or three. I have often wondered what my predilection for watching hours of Criminal Minds a day during those early months where all we did was sit on the couch together and nurse would ultimately do to her. If she becomes an FBI agent I will take full credit. And if she becomes a serial killer, well, then it is entirely Daryl's fault for letting her watch cartoons at seventeen months of age.
I do not want to imply that we have had no other television exposure since those early days when I taught Emmaline about my deep forbidden love for Dr. Spencer Reid.
The television is on every day. We watch the Stage and Screen channel regularly and I sing and Emmaline sings too. I think it's important that she realize now that she needs to be a star because - though I made a fabulous Mabel in Pirates of Penzance at the age of seventeen - I never got to be one.
She is making great progress and you can see her latest performance here.
So we will likely continue to have some screen time here and there...and over there...and over there as well. But maybe we will avoid shows will serial killers from here on out.
He pointed at the picture on the page before them.
"Moon," he said. Then, "La luna."
I shot him a look of disbelief.
"What?" he asked. "Dora speaks Spanish."
I know Dora speaks Spanish. In the ER Dora speaks Spanish while I sew up lacerations. She speaks Spanish while I staple cuts deep in scalps and covered in hair and blood.
"Backpack!" I say as I pick up my needle driver and pull the edges of a gaping wound closer together.
I am well acquainted with this particular Nickelodeon creation, well enough anyway to wonder where her parents are while she traipses through the jungle.
I had been at work yesterday and Daryl and Em had discovered the on demand cartoon episodes in our Netflix queue. Strictly speaking, the American Academy of Pediatrics does not recommend any screen time at all before age two or three. I have often wondered what my predilection for watching hours of Criminal Minds a day during those early months where all we did was sit on the couch together and nurse would ultimately do to her. If she becomes an FBI agent I will take full credit. And if she becomes a serial killer, well, then it is entirely Daryl's fault for letting her watch cartoons at seventeen months of age.
I do not want to imply that we have had no other television exposure since those early days when I taught Emmaline about my deep forbidden love for Dr. Spencer Reid.
The television is on every day. We watch the Stage and Screen channel regularly and I sing and Emmaline sings too. I think it's important that she realize now that she needs to be a star because - though I made a fabulous Mabel in Pirates of Penzance at the age of seventeen - I never got to be one.
She is making great progress and you can see her latest performance here.
So we will likely continue to have some screen time here and there...and over there...and over there as well. But maybe we will avoid shows will serial killers from here on out.
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