Last night, I heard C run from his bedroom to the living room saying,
"Binga! Get in here! Time to help Daddy! Hurry! Hurry!".......(pause, eager running from the living room to the bedroom)......then, "Daddy! Binga here! Binga ready to help us!!"
So before you start imagining a neighborhood friend (with an unusual name) helping Charlie & his daddy take down his crib (yes, you read that right!! Milestone #1million this summer. More later.) I will fill you in on a little secret. There is no visable friend.
That's correct. Binga, it seems, is C's imaginary friend.
Now, I must admit that I've been slacking on the baby book a bit, so I can't pinpoint the exact date to when "Binga" officially arrived in Spahnville, but I know it was earlier this spring/summer. C had been talking about Binga more frequently and finally it dawned on his brilliant mother to ask him to tell her more about Binga. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Charlie, tell me about Binga.
C: He my friend.
Me: Oh! I didn't know you had a friend named Binga.
C: He a nice friend.
Me: Hmmmmm. What does Binga look like?
C: He look like mommy. He my best friend.
(Aw, pause for dramatic effect of that super sweet statement! I knew right away I liked this Binga character)
Me: Oh, I bet you like Binga a lot!
C: Uh-huh. But sometime Binga naughty.
Me. Oh. (wth? His mommy is the best ever so I still can't understand why Binga would have any flaws)
And so we continued the summer with frequent Binga stories. Usually they were just tidbits like:
"Binga hit me today. He sit in time out."
"Binga my friend. I ride his horses. He live in a barn."
"Binga have orange hair. He my brother." (whaaaat????)
But lately, Binga has become more..... real? Like, C can totally work himself up because we're not stopping at Binga's house on the way home from daycare. The other day, he almost was in tears as the conversation went like this:
C: "Mommy, I sad. I just so sad." (Yes, he is a counselor's kid-- we've been working on feeling identification since he could talk. Maybe this is going to come back to haunt me.)
Me: Why are you sad, honey?
C: I miss Binga. I miss my friend.
Me: Oh. It is sad when we can't be with our friends.
C: But I really sad. (He pouts, and quivers his lower lip)
Me: I can tell you're sad. Maybe when we get home we can read some stories and tell Binga about them.
C: No, I not want to read stories. I want Binga!
Me: (Losing a bit of patience) Well, it's almost naptime and Binga's probably taking a nap.
C: Binga not take naps. I want Binga! (tears are now forming)
Me: (really losing patience) Well honey, technically you could just conjure up Binga and have him instantly.
C: Mommy, what conjure? I not conjure. I want Binga!
Oh my. So, I guess now I just embrace the fact that my kid has an imagination, right?