Monday, March 17, 2003


She's become quite the talker, my little daughter.

In the mornings, she pounds at our bedroom door, demanding to be let in in her colorful argot that only she understands (just because we cannot understand what she is saying does not mean she isn't saying something). When I open the door to let her in, she greets me with more words (we suspect the language of b irds) before climbing onto the bed and diving into her mother.

After making her sure that both her parents are awake, Sage then climbs off the bed, crosses the room to where the DVDs are stacked, and picks out her favorite ones (Spirited Away, and more disturbingly Aimee & Jaguar). The rest she dumps on the floor and steps on (she is a worse critic than I am - while I confine myself to words, my daughter takes physical action against films she doesn't like, which sadly include Chicago and Hero). Then she runs back to us and babbles on while waving the DVDs in her arms, laughing at some funny thing she no doubt said, enveloping us in her delightful jargon.

Yesterday, she came up to me with one of her shoes. I took it from her as she sat down and extended her foot.

"Wait, wait," I told her. "Where is the other shoe?"

She stood up and walked over to where all her different shoes were placed and picked out the matching one, gave it to me and after sitting down, extended her foot again.

My clever, clever 13-month old girl.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home