I have never been a fan of baby talk. It annoys me when a grown adult speaks to children in a way that reinforces inaccuracy in the English language. When Zach and Alex were about four and two, I remember sitting in the New Frontiers deli talking with them about their day. A woman beside us came over and asked if I really talked to them that way all the time. I guess she was not familiar with kids that age using two and three syllable words. It made me feel almost guilty that I was forcing the kids to speak in a manner for which they were unprepared. That having been said, my third born is also able to manipulate the sea of two and three syllable words that I throw at him however, he braves the sea of Mom’s big words through a variety of speech impediments that I have come to find annoyingly endearing. I fear that I will have pangs of loss when I finally hear an ‘L’ venture from his sweet lips (as in, “Alex” rather than “Aye-ix”); I may go through withdrawals the first time he is able to pronounce an ‘S’ before a consonant (as in, “I spy…” rather than, “I pie with my little eye…”). It is that sensation that you have when you see pictures of a puppy that was adopted into the family and you are sitting on the couch next to the sweet 95 lb. labrador beast that they have become. Sam is probably going to end up on the debate team or be the speech writer for the presidential candidate in 2038, but for now I am so happy just enjoying his quintessential ‘Sam-ness’.
We decided to come up with Super Hero names recently and we have two out of three of the boys named. Alex is Captain Dimples (pretty self-explanatory) and Sam is Super-Belly (because wherever he goes, he seems to lead with his belly. But if you ask him what his super hero name is, he will tell you with the utmost confidence and joy, “I am Supuh-Beh-Wee.” The son of an English major, what can I say.