Luh dada

A while back, we had an acquaintance over for a craft date. She, in turn, invited a guest. Her guest was 20 years old, and great beauty was her gift. Alas, tact, grace, and wit were not among her charms. Thankfully, GreatBeauty was a total knockout.

While we were sitting around having lunch, I was feeding Genevieve. With every bite, I would say (in a crazy, sing-song voice) "More please, Mama!" while furiously signing the same thing.

GreatBeauty looked at me, looked at Genevieve (10 months old at the time) and said plainly, "You know, she's not going to say it back to you."

The parents among us will appreciate getting child-rearing advice from someone who (a) is childless and (b) very likely hasn't read a book in the last year (or five years), never-mind a parenting book.

In lieu of a language development lecture (we learn language by being spoken to), I smiled at her and said, "You never know!"

(I was rewarded with an eyeroll, for the record.)

Fast forward two weeks.

I was bathing Genevieve, and in that same crazy, sing-song voice, I tell her I love her and then say, "I love you, too, Mama!" (We tell her we love her about a thousand times a day, but I couldn't help but lobby a bit.)

She looked me straight in the eye, and in a tone that said "you are mistaken, mother," she said clearly, "Luh DADA."

After I got over the shock, I thought about it for a moment.

Andrew, wearing Genevieve in his ERGO Sport, with the new sucking pads

What's not to luh about Dada, really?

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