My little Reese is a sound effects machine. At nearly 8 months, she’s graduated from mouthing silent expressions to straight-up consonant caterwauling. From the shrill Jamie Lee Curtis scream to a coo that melts you, she’s got it all. This, ladies and gentleman, is Advanced Babbling.
Bad-Ass Babbler!
Her growing arsenal of sounds makes the house a constant carnival. Add 4 year-old brother Jack’s penchant for Godzilla-inspired communication, and you have, well, a Godzilla Carnival (come over if you don’t believe me). Half of our home sounds like this:
Although rare, when Reese is silent, she sometimes just looks at you, I mean really looks at you, her mind a symphony of pulsing synapses. This is when she catches me off-guard. I fall into those oceanic blue eyes, wondering if she’s about to confront me on my failures as a parent, or demand explanation why I haven’t opened her 529 account by now. Pretty intimidating, really. Must be her German heritage.
PAPERS–PLEASE.
Advanced Babbling would be nothing without “dah-dah” and “mah-mah,” both of which are in full rotation, but their meaning is still lost on Reese. Frankly, she can call me anything she wants. If it comes from her, I’ll respond to even the most reviled names, like T.J. Hooker, even the inferior Matt Houston (yes, I just referenced Matt Houston).
Deep as a Birdbath 