Pardon My French

Precocity

I'm sitting here, covered in green beans, carrots and potatoes, just so I can let the world know how advanced my baby is. Really, Kathy wasn't lying when she said I'd have a different baby every 6 months. Who is this child? She looks the same.

Anyway, I don't know how on earth this can possibly be beneficial to anyone, but I've realized that I really do think my baby is advanced in the art of spitting. Who knew? I haven't ever seen it as a developmental milestone, but surely it should be. The left side of my jeans are covered, I've got it in my hair, and we won't go into what she looks like. Her uncanny ability is only the more highlighted by the fact that she quite deliberately, I assure you, leaned over the side of her high chair and spit a mouthful of food on the floor and watched it fall. I moved her chair next to the table in order to try to nip that fun game in the bud, but I clearly see that I'm going to need to be on my toes here.

Oh, yeah, and she said her first word: Blech. Just like that. She once in a while will accidentally babble out consonants but is pretty much sticking to singing vowels, usually in fun places like waiting rooms and weddings, so I was surprised when she all of a sudden demonstrated that she in fact could make new sounds. Blech, Mom, your cooking is crap. And to show you what I think of your silly green beans, here you go: ppppthhhhhhhhhffffffwa. Voila. Ha ha, I even got some on your shoe.

AND let me just take this time to say why didn't you tell me about the solid poop? Here I was blogging away about her first meal and no one warned me what would happen at 4:30 a.m. Thanks, guys.