Out of the mouths of babes

I'm the last person to give my kids credit for their baby-stage talking. Baby babbling is cute, but unless those sounds are associated with a particular object or directed at a specific person, they are merely sounds that resemble words in my book. "Ba-ba" is not ball, unless he's pointing at a ball and saying it. Consistently. Likewise with all the other "first words" we moms like to claim for our genius children. Abby's first word was "duck" and she was pointing at a duck when she said it. Caleb's was "nana" and I fed him bananas for months until he learned to ask for other foods.

So yesterday, when Jacob started babbling an endless stream of "blah-blah-blah-blah" it was adorable, but I was not ready to admit he was talking just yet. When he interrupted his rant and it one time became "blah-blah-blah-ma-ma-blah-blah-blah," I was excited, because it's pretty stinking adorable to hear a kid say Mama, whether he means it or not. But talking? No. Until Mama means me--the food lady, the diaper changer, the picker-upper of stray toys, the soother of crying babies--and he's using those syllables to get my attention, they are merely cute sounds.

And then today, he stole my heart.

He woke up this morning and carried on as if yesterday's conversation had never ended.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he said when I scooped him up from his crib.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he continued while I changed his diaper. The blah-ing took on a sense of urgency as he watched the methodical preparation of his bottle, then turned back to happy blahs once his tummy was full.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he chirped, asking to be put down so that he could play with Abby and Caleb. And since he communicates so clearly, what with the blah-ing and the back-arching and the reaching for the floor, I put him down like he wanted.

He stared up at me for a second, flapped his little arms like he does when he's not getting his way, puffed his little lip out and stared up at me with those big brown eyes.

"Mama! Blah-blah-blah! Mama!" The cries were urgent, they were plaintive, and they were directed at me. I scooped him back up.

"Where's Mama?" I asked. He looked in to my eyes and planted those fat little baby hands on my cheeks.

"Mama! Blah-blah-blah-blah! Mama!"

Mama. His first word. And music to my ears.