Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Oh baby, talk to me
It's been two months already, but strangely enough it seems as if you've been in our lives all along.
If you were our firstborn I'd be able to tell you exactly how many times you sneezed in these last two months. I could tell you the exact day and minute of the first smile you'd shown that didn't appear to be pent up gas. But you are the second child, and while you were doing all those things I was looking away or tripping over toys I'd asked your sister to put away.
Instead of being able to pinpoint the exact second of your first smile, I can recall that the first time I noticed a non-sleeping smile was while we were in Maine visiting your Ama and cousin. It was about four weeks (a week sooner than your sister, I might add). Also I can tell you that while I have no idea how many sneezes or hiccups you've expelled, I know that after most sneezes you make a heartbreaking little sighin sound that will make me regret I didn't record it for posterity. (Yes, I know there's still time but I'm not too skilled in the moving pictures department. And since it takes effort, I know I'll just be sitting here on my brains hoping someone else will capture the moment.)
I also don't know when it was that you started trying to be a part of the family on your own, but I know that right now you are verbalizing up a storm. The colloquial term would be "cooing," I believe.
I don't remember Annabel doing this. But perhaps I was too busy looking at her to talk to her the way I talk to you. I never really expected you to talk back though. In the doctors' office, while we were waiting for your vaccinations, I was telling you all about the things on the counter I could identify. Cotton sqabs, tongue depressors, a measuring tape, soap ... that thing that you use to look in someone's ear ... And you started repeating what I said. Sort of.
Mostly it had the same pitch and length, but the words were in a language I haven't spoken for more than 30 years -- baby.
Now, just so you know, I don't go in for all that "wooby, wooby widdle baby" stuff. I speak to little people pretty much the same way I speak to the guy at the post office or in coffee shop: four stamps; black, no sugar. (Don't laugh, I get blank stares from them too.)
And yet, when I tell you about the grossness of the dog's drooling ways or wonder if you are more interested in listening to Dave Matthews or Parlament, I am delighted by your enthusiasm. Your "Eeeeyaaas" and "ooooos" sound remarkably positive as I'm reading to you from the grocery list.
"Oh your right! I did forget the Hearts and Os cereal. Annabel's favorite. You're such a good brother."
I'm glad you speak my language. When I ask you to look in the box where the cold food is one day, trying to remember the name for the refrigerator, I'm sure you'll know exactly what I mean.
Posted by toyfoto at 12:50 AM