For the first 6.8 months of his life, we thought our new baby boy, whom we shall refer to lovingly as "The Edge," might actually be a rooster. He crowed. He grabbed things with his claws and threw them. He was messy. He flapped his wings.
But yesterday, completely out of nowhere, he spoke to me like a little baby human. Just like that. Not actual words, mind you. He's still much to young for that. But it was that sweet baby babble where we had previously only heard screeches, grunts and howls.
The morning started just like every other morning: I went into his room and lifted him out of his crib, greeting him with a cheerful "Good Morning!" and "How was your sleep?" I engaged in what has become diaper-changing jiu jitsu. We settled into the rocker for his morning bottle.
After he'd gotten a few ounces into him, I propped him up onto my shoulder for a burp. Then I held him out in front of me to get a good look at his sweet baby face. And that's when it happened. He just started talking!
"Gaa gaa daat daat daat. Yeah I had a pretty good sleep but I have some boogers stuck in my nose as you can see and maybe you should change my crib sheet. Gaa ga daat."
I stared at him in amazement then hugged him so hard that I foooshed all the air out of his little body.
Since then I have been dropping pots and rushing to his side every time he does it, just so I can hear what he might say next. And I changed his crib sheet.