The Popple has started to talk. Not in words, obviously, but she’s started to make sounds other than high-pitched wails, which is nice. We have conversations sometimes. They mostly go like this:
Popple: Aaa goo!
Me: Aaa goo?
Me: Good fart! Who makes the best farts?
If someone had told me that I’d be having these kind of exchanges with my baby before I had one, I wouldn’t have believed them. I wasn’t going to be one of those parents who conversed with their wee one using baby talk. I was going to talk to her using proper words spoken in a normal adult voice. I would tell about literature and art and music and she’d be the smartest baby around. Instead, I open my mouth and complete nonsense comes tumbling out.
“Gaa and goo and goo and gee!” I say to her, poking her in the belly to try to make her smile. Most of the time she looks back at me with her “I’m totally judging you right now” face.
But sometimes – when I’m lucky – I get one of these. And it’s the best thing ever.