Words

So Gillian has been chiming in with some words now. It’s really cute as you can imagine. There has been the usual babbling of ma-ma and bu-ba and so forth, but now she’s actually saying bu-bye and waving (whether you’re coming or going) and this morning she reportedly said up to grandma when she wanted to be picked up. She’s so freakin’ cute!

She’ll be ten months old next week. It’s amazing how time flies. We’ve got her in jeans and a sweatshirt on today. That’s my favorite style of clothing for her. She looks like a little hoodlum, my li’l hoodlum. What a doll. There she goes. I’m going to give chase. Oh, now we’re in grandma and grandpa’s room. I thought that’d be fine until I saw her headed towards the open toilet. Yikes!

Toilets are another charming feature of babies that I’d never really given much thought to before having a baby. I just figured that babies that play in toilets like the baby on the cover of Sebadoh’s Bakesale album were kooky rare cases. Boy was I wrong. Gillian will play in a toilet like it’s a champagne fountain if you let her. The trick is: don’t let her. She’s not alone either. This other baby I know, Tarkin, will likewise drown his sorrows in the nearest porcelain soda fountain like a drunk at a company holiday party.

Okay, so I just lost a paragraph about her cute jeans and sweatshirt ensemble and how cute and gangsta she looks in it, but this sentence pretty much makes up for what was lost. This isn’t really supposed to be a baby blog but that’s just about all I can think about today since we’re hangin’ so tight. Yo. Dave Berry wrote this column recently (well it was published recently anyway) where he said that parents’ IQ scores are on par with “a lump of charcoal” because of the singularity of thought that is required of you in the performance of your parenting. I feel it. Oh yes, I feel it.

I’m gonna go play with my little demon seed now.

“May the force be with you.”