The other Ben by JULIET WATERS Have you seen my son, Ben? Probably, if you’ve ever been to Euro-Deli. About a year ago I started getting reports that he’s a regular. I would be talking to a friend and say something along the lines of, “We should get together so you can see Ben.” And she’d say, “Actually, I saw him yesterday at Euro-Deli.” Then he started talking. I’d read that sometimes a child might start by naming every piece of fruit “apple,” which is exactly what Ben did. Peaches, pears, plums, all these were “apple.” Everything else was “pizza.” That he might be eating too much Italian fast food was not the issue. It was the weird feeling that my son, who only just recently turned two, had this other life as a Plateau tot. One Friday night, I showed Ben’s picture to a Plateau-dwelling friend of mine who hadn’t met him yet. He was having a yard sale/afternoon party the next day, which I promised we’d attend so Ben could meet his kids. The next day, when I called to say I might not make it, he said, “Oh, don’t worry. Ben came by earlier. I guess that was his stepmother?” To some extent, Ben’s dad has had similar experiences, though his are of Ben as the tot from the ’hood. Once, while shopping at the Jean-Talon Market, close to where I live, Ben’s dad heard a little voice chanting, “Ben! BEN! Aquí!” It was a member of what I call Ben’s posse, a group of little Spanish girls he knows from his daycare, whom he often hangs out with at the local playground. Ben sauntered over to her and her mother as best he could, given his still-developing motor skills. As an ex-Plat myself, I’m glad that he’s not getting too caught up in one particular toddler scene. Then there’s the language thing. It’s such a strange feeling to hear another language coming out of your baby’s mouth. Then again, pretty much most of what they say in English sounds like another language. As if it isn’t hard enough trying to distinguish the difference between baby babble and baby English, I have to also decipher baby French, which he’s learning at daycare. Then one weekend we were driving with a Jewish friend who remarked, “Oh... Ben speaks Hebrew.” I thought it was babble, but he does in fact speak Hebrew with his stepmother. He doesn’t speak much Spanish yet, just the occasional “aquí” at the park when he’s with his posse. But who knows what he’ll end up speaking by the time he’s three. I bitch. But after getting over the initial pang of knowing that your two year old seems to be thriving pretty well without you, there’s actually this real rush of relief and freedom. It means I actually get to have something of an other life. Plus I get the added advantage of getting a bit of perspective. Mothers who want to spend 24/7 with their kids often talk about not wanting to miss out on milestones. But there are milestones you miss out on when you don’t spend significant time away from your child. I was there when he took his first steps and said his first words and sang his first song. And I was also not there the first time he slept in until 8 a.m. and stayed in his crib cooing happily and talking to his toes, which happens regularly at his grandparents’. This NEVER happens at home, where Ben has me on army hours, up at dawn making sure he’s instantly fed. I’m also not there when he takes three-hour naps at daycare, which he never does at home. And I’m also not there when he eats vegetables. I’m coming slowly to the conclusion that being around mothers too much is not a healthy thing for toddlers. They end up being forced to establish their sense of identity by being negative all the time, when really what they might need is to just get a life. :