grrrrrsshhh, ah-goo

Maybe even more delightful than sleep is the just-awoken baby-speak moments that The Ben and I share now with increasing regularity. With mommy spending more of her evenings either working or recovering from work, The Ben and I seem to be growing quite a bit closer [not just because our tummies are growing at equal rates], and I think we have come to an understanding of tongues, namely, I show him what my tongue looks like and he mocks me with one of his open-mouth grins. I don’t mind it really. If I can keep him amused for 15 minutes, lapping my chin and drooling all over my U of I tee shirt well, I’m willing and able. Big kicks are also had when I echo his vocabulary, which pretty much consists of the music-to-my-ears clatter represented in the title of this entry. I swore one day before I became a paterfamilias, that I would never become one of those mall-walking, baby-talking, soccer-sticker-on-the-back-of-my-minivan parents you see all over this fine, infested land. Well I suppose, with great drudgery, that the baby-talking part of that parental sketch is fine by me, but if anyone out there ever catches glimpse of me piloting a minivan, much less one with a soccer sticker pasted on the rear windshield, please stop me, drag me out from behind that wretched steering wheel, and beat me senseless with the baby-on-board sign from the passenger window.

I digress. What was I saying, then. . . yes, that’s right. The baby-talk. So much fun. Goo-ga. You should try it, aaa-boo, sometime. Ba. Good stuff. Works on, daa daa, all kinds of babies, ooo-ba, just not the cranky ones. Goo-ga. Whaaaaa! Ah-goo!