Chicklet and the 27, part I

It seems that little Chicklet is a bit of an early talker. At eight months and some change, she said her first word (aside from “dada” and “mama,” that is): “kitty.” This is somewhat of a surprise, since we don’t have any pets, and she’s only seen a few living, breathing cats in her short life. (Our neighbors’ cat, Otis, is apparently pretty inspiring.)

My first word (at about the same age) was “more.” It is a concept that has defined my life ever since (you can never have too much chocolate ice cream or listen to “If I Was Your Girlfriend” too many times in a row), so it will be interesting to see how (or if) “kitty” comes to define Chicklet. Maybe she’ll grow up to be a cat lady. Or a veterinarian. Or a person who’s into leopard prints.

But I digress.

What I want to tell you about is Chicklet’s second word, which–I swear on The Book–was “bus.”

This morning, as she breakfasted on homemade applesauce and pseudo-Cheerios, the 27 stopped at a light outside our kitchen window.

Me (for the kajillionth time since her birth): “Rosa, see the bus?”
Chicklet (for the first time ever): “Bup.”
Me (incredulous): “Bus?”
Chicklet (emphatic): “Bup!”

She repeated it all morning. “Bup,” when she wanted more applesauce, “bup,” to get out of her high chair, and again (perhaps to restore my belief that she actually understands what the word means) when the 942 passed. Since then, she’s been saying it every time she sees or hears a bus, which, given the location of our home and our preferred mode of transportation, is pretty much constantly.

Such a smart girl. Before we know it, she’ll be memorizing schedules.

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