Lost in Translation

The baby speaks!

Unfortunately, not English, or any other language known to man. But she's speaking, definitely. And its so freaking delightful, I almost pop an artery from the force of sheer joy that courses through me.

One of my favorite things to do is put Terza on my lap when I read to Primo at bedtime. Sometimes she's crying too hard to achieve the Hallmark bonding moment I aspire for but sometimes she's chill enough to hang with us while we read (right now its a fantastic middle-grade gem know one seems to know about called Half Magic which I highly recommend).

Last night, the baby was crying her head off while I held her in her preferred football hold and it looked like bedtime book reading was out for the night. But then I turned the baby around to face Primo and I and she instantly stopped crying and perked up. And starting talking.

"Gruuuuuuu," she gurgled.

Primo and I giggled. I love that he shares my delight and pride over the baby's little milestones.

"Gruuuuuu," Primo gurgled back.

The baby broke into a magnificent smile. And don't you even dare tell me it's gas. People who say that are just haters. Ye of little faith.

"You told her a joke," I said to Primo.

"Yeah," he said, "I told her a knock knock joke and I didn't even know it."

"Gruuuuuuu," I gurgled

"Gru. Gru. Gruuuuu," she replied.

"Oh you don't say," I replied right back. I guess its kind of sickening to witness such a saccharine flow of gooey affection and probably even more sickening to read about it but the oxytocin is calling the shots here lately.

"Let me try," said Primo, "Grrrrrruuuuuuuuu!" he voiced expressively.

And the baby burst into tears.

Which made us just laugh our heads off.

"What did you say to her?" I asked Primo.

"I must have insulted her," he cackled, "Maybe I called her a jerk in baby language."

Yes, this is how we get our kicks. You gotta get them somehow.