The Baby is a chatterbox. We had an inkling that she would be from about six months, when she started babbling with gusto. And now, at 15 months old, she doesn’t stop talking. Not all of it makes sense, of course, but a lot of it does.
She says ‘hiya’ and ‘bye bye.’ A lot.
She says ‘uh-oh!’ if someone drops something on the floor. Just to point out their mistake.
She tells us when she wants to go upstairs, outside, or on the slide. When she’s at the top of the slide, she shouts ‘go!’
She can name a veritable menagerie of animals, and make their corresponding noises, including a very good ‘clip clop’ sound whenever we walk past the stables on the school run.
If she gets told off, or if someone does something she doesn’t like, she sticks her bottom lip out and calls them ‘bad.’
She points out cars and trains, and knows that aeroplanes go ‘up sky.’
She can also name every member of the family – including ‘cat’ (her very first word, at 10 months old).
Yep, for all the words she has mastered, a simple ‘mama’ seems to elude her. She went through a phase of saying ‘mumumumum’ whenever she was grumpy, but now? Nothing. Despite all the hours I spend feeding her, playing with her, cuddling her, reading books and singing songs, she just Will Not call me by name.
My theory is that because I’m always here, she has no need to use my name. She doesn’t have to question where I am, because I’m at most a room away, and she can come and find me. But nevertheless, I’ll admit to a pang of jealousy when DH comes in from work – after *I’ve* been tending to her every need all day – and she greets him with a crystal-clear ‘Dada!’
The little traitor.