To my BirdFriend,
It wasn't until we were halfway through our drive home from your "school" that I realized you had been dominating most of the conversation.
"We played in the play house and I waited my turn but Jackson didn't wait his turn so he had Miss Emily tell him 'no!' and I waited my turn but then when he took to long I just went by him and then went to the reading center and read a book - have you ever read a book about a bear, mama? I did that today and it was a brown bear, brown bear, what do you see? I see a brown bear looking at me!"
You do not even take a break between sentences, not even the most minimal of pauses. It's as though you've finally figured out how to express the thoughts in your brain and you have so much time to make up for. Like almost three whole years.
"Remember when I was a little baby? And I slept in a crib?" [Note: You still sleep in your crib, only it's been transformed into a toddler bed. Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Birdy.] "And I cried and you would come in and sing me a lullaby?"
I still sing you lullabies, my friend, only now you sing them back to me. After your daddy or I sing you our mangled version of "Lullaby, and good night, go to sleep little baby, lullaby and good night, go to sleep, my love," and rub your back, you have taken to sitting up and saying, "Okay, now I sing to you." And you pet my arm absently while singing to "your whittle mommy."
Because your speech, despite all the words you know and the phrases you can turn, is slightly affected by the W's subbed in for R's and L's, and occasionally we get a rogue R where an L should be. Which makes "love" into "wuv." And the names of your classmates into something different than their parents originally intended: Owivia, Wowa, Wyan, and Wexi. Your favorite song these days is "Yewwow Submaween."
And after banging your hands on the piano keys for a few minutes: "Mommy, do you want to crap for me?"
"Sure, sweetie. Daddy and I will both ... crap for you."
You've also started to call us "mom" and "dad," instead of the "mommy and daddy" versions you held tight to for months. "Bye mom ... wuv you!" is what you yell to me from the front steps when you and your dad leave for school in the morning. Or when you ask, "Dad, can I have some M&M&M&Ms?" (So many "and m's.") Even though your voice is still a dozen octaves higher than the normal human being, this language shift is making you sound older.
And sometimes you straight-up channel Han Solo, by answering my "I love you!" with, "I know."
I love the way you talk. I love this window into what you're thinking, and it makes me smirk to hear grown-up sentiments like, "We should replace that light bulb so I don't trip and fall and crack my head" coming out of your mouth. (Clearly you have a strong grasp of how uncoordinated your mama is.) I wanted to know what you were thinking for the longest time, and now that I have an inkling, I just want to know more.
The things you say cwap me up. I wuv you endwesswy.