This kid was born to tell stories. Lately he is a blathering chatter box full of new sounds and exclamations. He is figuring out how to control his tongue and create a bunch of new noises. Right this very moment he is strutting around our downstairs living room, his pants falling off his too skinny bum, a dvd case in hand that he is treating like an iPad, and chattering up a doozy of a storm. He points with his little finger, gesticulating. He taps the case with determined raps and blabbers a series of indiscernible phrases. Then he continues his walking only to stop mid stride and chatter some more. I do not know what he is saying, his gibberish is still just that, but I am none the less riveted. His eyes are sparkling, his arms are waving, and his mouth is moving ten thousand miles a minute.
This series of events is one of the most endearing things this little man does, aside from reaching his arms up to me and rapidly flexing his little fingers telling me he wants up. I wish I knew all the things he was saying. I wish I could peek into his little mind and see the imagination there. I wish I could hold a gramophone horn to my ear and have his baby language instantly translated. He could be telling me about our grand adventures at Marshalls today. He could be relating the plot of Tangled, the dvd case he is carrying. He could even be rattling off the next great novel. Sadly I will never know. I can only sit here and watch in amazement as my little man grows up one little jabber at a time, right before my eyes.