“You’ve got a frog in your throat” is a tricky thing to say to a two-year-old. It’s a downright dangerous thing to say to Little Friend. When the mucus-y, cloggy, froggy thing happened to Little Friend’s voice the other night at dinner, we accidentally went there: “You’ve got a frog in your throat!” Big Friend observed.
Little Friend got real quiet.
Her brow furrowed.
Her hand went to her mouth.
Then she looked at her cupped hand. “Frog,” she pronounced. And so the Throat Frog was born into our family. He makes frequent appearances at meal times. Just now, he hopped out of her mouth, (complete with coughing, hacking, hawking noises) nibbled on some eggs and plums from Little Friend’s plate, received three kisses (as did Thumkin and, inexplicably, my forearm.) Eventually, Throat Frog got his fill of food and hopped back into her mouth.
She held her hand out to the table where, presumably, Throat Frog was hunkered down.
She carefully lifted her hand to her open mouth.
Throat Frog is home.
I’m in between breakfast dishes right now and the chicken stock that needs to get bubbling on the stove. I’m trying not to use my cold as an excuse to get out and use the new jogging stroller this morning. I’m sure you’re sick of reading Little Friend posts. I promise to expand my horizons shortly.
Right now, this is what’s going on in my living room:
But for now, I just had to get this memory down in writing: A frog in the throat who becomes an imaginary friend. Who just happens to live in the region of Little Friend’s vocal chords. And who is teaching her that no matter how many frogs you kiss in life, some of them just stay frogs.