Speech

Apparently babies are born into the world with these giant sponge like brains, capable of understanding every type of language known to man. And it it only our proclivity (particularly in America) of nattering on for hours in our own particular dialect that limits them to one. Ergo; we've been speaking to Sadie exclusively in Latin because we think it's a language that's going to make a come back. Et tu, Brute? I mean, that (probably fictional) moment in history is pretty much the reason that language was invented. Well, that and probably at some point some cave woman noticed some cave guy just hanging out on a Saturday when he could have been doing something useful like dusting.

Sadie is just in the beginning phases of speech. And I think we're probably as excited as your typical parents to hear what little noise she's going to make next. Actually you're supposed to speak to the child and then pause, thus allowing them time to speak as well (as though you're having a conversation with the little baldy), and then you're supposed to copy whatever noise they make. Anyhow, some of her noises are just plain crazy babyness, so I generally wind up saying Ooohhh over and over again because it's easy, and I figure she'll start getting it at some point, and I can be excited about teaching her a phrase that's useful during eclipses and meteor showers.

I also now spend a good part of my day pointing to my chest and saying da da. And then pointing to my nose and saying, "nose, nose" followed by pointing to her nose and repeating the phrase. I'm guessing that at some point soon my child is going to lament the fact that her father only seems to know two words. This is also just a fair warning to those people in my life, if I come up to you and start pointing to your nose with a great deal of excitement just go along with it.

Sometimes, when I'm walking around work I stop and think of my little chubby cheeked girl. It's as if she's a balloon that's being blown up via breast milk. I think of her red cheeks, and the faint bits of fuzz that are supposed to pass for hair. I think of her long unblinking stare, and I smile, audibly, like a crazy person because I have such a beautiful little girl. (Of course, as I've just finished writing this I can hear her breaking into tears upstairs despite the fact that she's barely slept at all tonight apparently she's taken it upon herself to take the night off from that whole sleeping thing, and I guess it's just one more day of being a parent).