Chatterbox

Little Georgie was the first of the twins to start talking.  He still talks a fair amount, but Freddie has sure passed him up in the vocal department - talking, that is.  Georgie still sings more.

At naptime, Trent and I take the twins into their bedroom (I can tuck them both in by myself just fine, but it's nice that Trent works out of his office here at home right now.).  We settle into the two rocking chairs and hold our babies.  Freddie talks a mile a minute about the fly buzzing about the room, how he wants us to pull the blinds all the way down, how he likes the dogs on his blanket.  He downs his sippy cup of milk, proclaims, "Niwk!  All-done.  Throw it!" and wants to chuck the cup across the room.  He has to get up, turn on the closet light, and adjust the closet door so it is mostly closed, but not completely.  It has to be just right.  He tells us all about it.  He grabs one blanket, "Beenket!." and gives it to his little brother.  He runs for the other blanket, "Mine beenket," and settles back into Trent's arms.

As we are tucking them into bed, Freddie excitedly jumps up, closely followed by a breath-taking plume, and exclaims, "Dipah!  Janch!" to let us know that he can't possibly take a nap wearing a recently-soiled diaper.

During a car ride, he chatters about buses and cars and his favorite, motorcycles.  He wants to drive "fass!"  And he cries that "Doch.  Hit.  Me!"  He talks quickly, but each word is its own exclamation, carefully chosen and spat out for intensity.

I change his clothes and he examines the raised, red strawberry birthmark on his shoulder.  "Owee.  Doch.  Bit.  Me.  No, Doch, no!"  One day he might figure out that it isn't a bite.  But then again, they do bite each other on a fairly regular basis.

Freddie's favorite is the quick permission petition.  He runs up to me (always running), starts to jabber something, and bolts away while still babbling.  At the end of his speech I hear his high-pitched, inquisitive shot, "K?"  And I know that he is about to get into something he knows I have to authorize.  He dashes off before I can give him the negative.  I then have to chase him down before he paints on the carpet with toothpaste, climbs on the kitchen counter, escapes to the great outdoors, or empties all the spoons from drawer.

I can still run faster than he can, even when he has a head start.  It won't always be that way.  For now, I chase him down, catch him, and squish his delightfully soft little body into a hug.  I'll hold him as long as he lets me.  Before putting him down, I ask for a kiss.  His kisses are big and open and drippingly wet, and I love them.  Only a mom could.  But I love him!