Monday, May 23, 2005

Cleansing the Verbal Palette

“We’re terrible parents, you know,” Papa Duck said through his laughter.

“I know, but it’s just so funny.”

Through the last month Cave Baby has continued her evolution to Speaking Homo Sapien Baby. New words seem to emerge daily, ball, peas, please (which sounds like “peas”), doggie, Cashew (pronounced “caggie”) and the list grows. But, as my good friend Lucky Lum can attest to, some innocent words sound dirty and it’s just irresistible to not have them repeated for your auditory enjoyment. Lucky’s daughter had a particularly difficult time with “frog,” and I probably don’t have to tell you which four-letter word that starts with “f” and rhymes with truck that it sounded like when Little Lucky Lum tried to say it.

Last night Papa said to The Duckling who was wanting to go outside, “Go get your coat. Say coat.”


We looked at each other….nahhhh.

“Say coat.”


Gales of complete childish laughter, from us…the responsible parents who the hospital let leave with this newborn baby a year and a half ago. See? They had no idea what kind of life they were subjecting The Duckling to. We only look like fine, upstanding citizens who are responsible enough to care for and raise a child.

For weeks now The Duckling has been walking around repeating one word over and over again. She doesn’t say it to anyone in particular and it’s always said in repetition while she’s deep in solitary play.

“Tits. Tits. Tits. Tits,” she says as she wanders around playing with her toys.

I have tried to get her to show me what she wants. She shows me nothing. I have tried to figure out the word…kids? No, that’s “kis.” Kix? No, that “keees.” She is definitely starting with a “t” sound, but I just cannot figure out what word she’s trying to say. For awhile I also thought it might be “this” but I’m pretty sure it’s not. While it's true that I do spend the better part of most days sitting on the couch with my boob out for Peanut’s dining pleasure I certainly don't sit around announcing, "Hey Peanut, would you like some tit for lunch?"

Huh, I just can't imagine where she's picked such foul language. Surely it couldn't be from her Sippy Cup Destroying Mother who uses the most pristine and intellectual language at all times. Could it be the bars she's spending her time at? Or her new group of Wisconsinite hoodlum friends? I'm not sure what it is but I've got a tray of two choices for the cleansing of her palette...Ivory or Dove.