Werd

One of the most endearing things about my son right now is that he is our own little backup chorus, repeating the ends of phrases or one choice word that occurred somewhere in the middle of the conversation. I'll be giving him some simple directions, like: "Kane, don't choke on that lollipop," and he'll walk around for the next five minutes saying "Don't choke, don't choke," and then giggling gleefully, like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. What's more, he picks up inflections, so it really sounds like Mommy using the sing-song voice that translates to: I'm-not-going-to-freak-out,-but-I'm-freaking-out-a-little-so-ha-ha-let's-make-this-warning-sound-like-it's-not-the-big-deal-it-is. Another thing he does is pick the funniest-sounding word, and then repeat it over and over, entertaining himself to no end. Example of the day is: "Kane, don't chew on the bottom of your shoe; it's disgusting." "Dis-gusting, dis-gusting, hahahahaha!" This is how we have a conversation. I had to escape tonight to see what real adults sound like, and ended up picking the one movie -Brokeback Mountain - where the main character hardly speaks. Still, I got to watch something uninterrupted and I got to eat a Reese's peanut butter cup, and to me, at this point in my life, it's freakin' heaven. So what if two hot guys were kissing eachother instead of, oh, say, me. The plot wasn't about trains or fuzzy muppets, and so it was just fine. Madamoiselle Carly, she turns 9 months tomorrow, which begs the question: Are you Shitting me?!? She's still into playing the game of "brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." And "blahblahblah. Mamamama. Dadada. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Brrrr." The new thing for her is not verbal; it's sitting on her bum, her legs out like a yogini - knees at opposite directions, heels of feet touching one another - and then launching herself across the room like she's being propelled up off her cute little derriere by a blast of hot air (no, she's not a Harley, anymore). She actually moves clear across the room in this way, moving herself like a crazy humanoid version of an early Wright Brother aeroplane, pumping up and down on her butt. I need video, but she's wily; she stops whenever she sees me whip the camera out. Kane's conversation with himself right now, as he winds down in his crib: "Tickwish. Tickwish. Oh, no. Gordon, stop! (It's not as distressing as you think, which you'd know if you had to sit through 100 episodes of Thomas the Tank Engine. Condolences to the people who can, sadly, say that.) Big trucks. Tractor on farm. Digger! Mixer truck. Grader. Grover's dere. Count. Dere he is!"