My daughter Nyobi appears to have the great makings of a conversationalist. She talks. She talks back to you, she complains vocally when she is not comfortable, and she engages in that charming past time of infant conversation. My favorite past time is to sit there and talk to her about really silly stuff and see her smile and goo ga back at me.
I know she doesn't understand, because she would never have smiled at my explanation about the impending use of the nasal spray on her cute little nose. She did clearly tell me afterward that she didn't enjoy the experience. At least I think that is why she screamed bloody murder for fifteen minutes. What I really want to know is why my husband walks in the door right after I do things like that. Either that or why Cora must cry too, as if I spend my days torturing the children to tears.
At dinner the other night, we were holding a beautiful conversation. Pete was telling me about his day, and I was telling him about my efforts at social networking. Cora was picking at her dinner and "arfing" like a dog (she sounds very realistic). Suddenly a new noise overrode everything. I was about to ask Cora if she hurt herself when the sound repeated; actually hurting my ears.
This new ear piercing, obnoxiously loud noise was emiting from our four month old. All three of us stared at her in shock for a second. Then Pete looked at her, "awe, are we ignoring you?"
She stuck her fingers in her mouth and grinned, munching them into a slobbery mess and continuing her conversational imput with more goos and gaas. "Arf arf" said Cora.
"No barking at the table." I imputed sideways. "No shreiking either!" I waved a finger towards Nyobis grinning moist face. She said "blagaaaga."
My worries about Nyobi, the second child, not getting heard dissipated.
Darn it though, Cora and Pete now have an excuse for selective deafness. I certainly do.