This past weekend, I was lifting Punkin into his carseat and he suddenly made a noise and said, "You hurta me!"
"I'm sorry, Punkin. What happened?"
"You hurta me!"
"Where's the owie?"
"Owie. You hurta me!" A single tear trickled down his cheek.
"I'm so sorry," As I went in to give him a hug, he pushed me away.
"No! Go way now! Hurta me! Shutta da door."
"Punkin," I stroked his face, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I will be gentle. Can I hold you?"
With tears in his eyes he flatly stated, "Sitta up der!" and pointed to the drivers seat.
He refused to speak to me the entire four minute drive to Oma and Opa's house, and when Oma asked him he reiterated, "Hurta me!" but I still have no clue how this tragic injury was inflicted.
Gotta be proud of those speech skills, though.