Miracle Baby

You may now refer to me as The Miracle Worker.

Why you may ask?

Well, recently, I had begun to wonder if El would ever really talk.  Don't get me wrong.  She points that chubby little index finger just fine, and her wails have pierced the ear drums of us and our neighbors.  Seriously, the girl has one mean set of lungs.  She definitely knows how to get what she wants.  But . . . she doesn't utter very many actual words as of yet.  

My memory may not be what it once was (Could years of sleep deprivation really make me forget my best girlfriend's phone number?), but when I reminisce about my older two rugrats, I  seem to remember them talking earlier than El.  (And, yes, I know that I am not supposed to compare, but I do, and so does everyone that has kids.  If they tell you that they don't, then they are lying.)  I have even consulted the kids' baby books to help jog my memory.  Unfortunately, all that I learned is that while I kept fairly decent records of Ab, my second kiddie's records, E's, seem to be, shall we say, lacking.   It's a good thing that El looks like Ab did when she was a baby, because El's baby book is so incomplete that I may have to resort to passing off photos of Ab for my nonexistent photos of El to fill up the pages.  

Anyway, needless to say, I was beginning to worry.  

And, that is when it happened.

El and I had our own Helen Keller/ Annie Sullivan moment.

As I was preparing dinner this evening, El toddled into the kitchen, curls bouncing, and handed me a cup that was left out by her brother.  I took the cup, said, "Thank you," and returned to my preparations.  El tugged on my pants and pointed to the cup, and thinking that she was playing a game,  I handed it right back to her.

She smiled, held the cup out to me and stately plainly, "Wa!"

Now, the lights did not dim, the music did not swell, and I did not swoon to my knees crying, but I did shout in surprise and delight, "Water!?!?  You want water?!?!"

And that little head of ringlets bobbed up and down so quickly, you would have thought that it would bob right off of her neck.  As I filled the cup, she smiled, laughed and clapped her hands sing songing, "Wa. Wa. Wa!"  the entire time.

It was a miracle!

Now, if only I could get the other two to stop talking . . . then I'd be in business . . .