In her almost 23 months of life, Sofia has hit many of the much-celebrated milestones (and plenty of the dreaded ones, too) that most soon-to-be two year-olds do. She smiled and laughed at the funny faces her daddy and I made at her while she lounged in her bouncer. She rolled over after innumberable demonstrations by yours truly. Without assistance, she sat and balanced that extra-large pumpkin head of hers the day before she turned five months old. She ate solid foods and showed an early preference for sweets. Shortly thereafter, she developed hives and was diagnosed with four food allergies; she has since outgrown three. She scooted all over the house on her booty, defiantly refusing to crawl until a little less than two months before she started to walk. She slept through the night a whole 11 times. 11. She made friends. She took her first plane ride, first swam in a pool, and met Mickey Mouse - all in one week! She reluctantly dipped her toes in the Atlantic Ocean. She bravely extended her chubby little hand to pet the most ferocious house cat known to man. She played in the snow. She drew with crayons. She ate crayons. She fell in love with Elmo. She made animal noises. She visited the Emergency Room. She talked. She talked and talked and talked, then she talked some more. She talked nonstop. She's still talking.
It comes as no surprise to me, nor should it to anyone who knows me, that I have quite a verbose, expressive child. Before Sofia spoke her first official word (kitty, of course), she had been communicating with us with varying degrees of effectiveness, and her frustration showed. Mine did, as well. I was certain that once she started to speak, our communication would improve immensely. And it did. Very rarely did we have to wonder what she wanted - usually snacks - or what was bothering her - usually a lack of snacks.
More rapidly than I expected, Sofia's vocabulary began to expand. She mastered animals and their sounds. She learned the names of her favorite foods ("hummy" for hummus remains my favorite). She rattled off body parts. She recited the names of our family members. Clothes, Disney characters, vegetables, insects - no problem. She not only knew how to say so many words, but she knew how to use them correctly. Her mastery left me in wonderment at how powerful and efficient her little mind was. At one point, it seemed as if she was adding 2-3 words a day to her vocabulary, sometimes even words that we didn't actively try to teach her. It was evident that she was paying very close attention to what we were saying whether or not we were talking to her. So when, I wondered, would she start to say those three little words which I had so gently whispered to her multiple times a day even since before she was born?
Part of our bedtime routine is saying goodnight to Daddy. Daddy tells Sofia, "I love you, Baby." Sofia responds, "Wuv." It's absolutely adorable, and I love getting to witness it every night. Still, hearing this night after night for months on end did nothing to quench the thirst to hear that word directed to me. Mommy. Giver of life. Nurturer. Milk maid. Nurse. Short order cook. Taxi driver. Social secretary. Personal shopper. Court jester. Personal assistant. Mommy. When would she tell me she loved me?
As Sofia began stringing several words together into sentences, she became a little narrator of sorts. "Mommy almost done shower." "Kitty Rufus poopy floor." "Baby hungry." "Where Daddy go?" "Big boy shoveling [snow]." "Mommy car driving." The list goes on and on. If it's happening within our vicinity, I will hear about it, even if I'm the one doing it. Sometimes, it's as if she gets caught in a loop, and she'll repeat the same darn thing upwards of ten times; she really spares no expense when it comes to getting her point across. The mundane little details warrant just as much attention as do the big ones.
The other day, we were driving home from a play date at a friend's house. Sofia usually uses this opportunity to point out each passing vehicle and ask me where it's going, and this day was no exception. As we pulled into our development, she victoriously shouted, "We're home!" I navigated the car into our parking spot, put the car in park, took the keys from the ignition, and braced myself for the long walk into our building in the snow. Out of the blue, my little narrator announced, "I love you, Mommy." And just like that, I was prouder than words could describe.
No comments:
Post a Comment