James has entered the broken record phase. "Are you okay, Daddy?" "I'm okay, James." "Are you okay, Daddy?" "I'm okay, James." "Are you okay, Daddy?" "I'm okay, James."
"Are you okay, Daddy?" "No! I'm not okay! I'm annoyed and going crazy because there's a two-year-old who keeps asking me the same question over and over and over and over and over!"
The war of attrition is futile. James has no concept of time. Like a dog, or a comet. He'll just keep doing the same thing in perpetuity because he can't comprehend the passage of time. It's like the end of that Kubrick movie when the Sixth Sense kid finally finds the blue fairy at the bottom of the ocean, which is where the movie should have ended (Thanks a lot, Spielberg!) Instead we find out (spoiler alert!) that the idiot robot boy stood there for three thousand years talking to a statue of a blue fairy before the aliens excavated him and gave us our happy, Hollywood ending.
When it comes to my precious son, however, I will always hope for the Spielberg ending in this Kubrick world.