Henry is starting to talk and it is pure joy. He has been saying dada for a while now, but on his birthday he finally gave me a little something, mama. It was, it IS, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Sometimes when he is sad or tired he cries “mama” in this sorrowful little timber, and when he is happy he laughs “mama” in a voice that lights me right up. It is delightful.
Less delightful though, when Josh calls me at work and tells me “Henry looked all over for you this morning crying ‘mama, mama’ but you weren’t here.” Aaaaand, dead. Shot through the heart dead. Way to break the momma’s heart.
Sometimes he’ll repeat words we say which, yeah, we get a kick out of that, today he and Josh kept saying “Giant” and it was adorable, but those words have no sticking power, not yet. The downside is, we’d better learn how to watch our language so Henry does;t pick up our bad habits.
(Didymos ’07 black and white pfau Ruck tied in front)