matching tracksuits

We’ve been working to teach L baby signs for months now. The books we read on the topic said the optimum age is usually around nine months, but we began from birth. Call us eager beavers or hopelessly optimistic about our daughter’s budding genius.

In the last few weeks, though, she’s really been picking up on the fact that we’re trying to communicate with her. The other evening, when L was reaching for her sippy cup, I sat down beside her and showed her the sign we’ve been using for “drink” — the motion of turning a cup toward your mouth, with thumb extended. She was fussy and whiny, but when she saw me point to the cup and then make the sign, saying “Drink,” she calmed down and seemed really to pay attention. I made the sign again, still pointing to the cup. She looked at me, looked up at the cup, then looked back at me. I balled up her little fist and helped her make the sign. In the past, when I’ve tried this, I got fierce resistance. This time, she relaxed and let me show her what to do. I made the sign again, then gave her the cup. The whole time, no tears, no whining, no fussing. I could almost see the thoughts bouncing around. “He’s trying to tell me something…”

I was in the living room, working on a contract writing project that’s been plaguing (and entertaining, not to mention paying) me for many months longer that it should have. K and the Girl were in the kitchen.

“Go tell Dad it’s time for splish-splash,” K said to the Girl (po polsku, of course).

I heard the pat-pat-pat of L’s feet (Have I mention L’s walking now, and has been for about a month and a half?) as she came into the living room. She looked at me, smiled, and flapped her arms in the air, splashing at the imaginary water — the sign we’ve been using for “bath.” She began giggling as she signed.

I don’t think I’ve felt that awed in all my life.