Yesterday at the park Colt greeted our friends… by barking at them.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!” he barked as Kim and Cameron approached us. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”
If you read Grunting, Licking and Smelling Butts, you know this isn’t the first thing our son has picked up from our dog.
(Thank God he’s stopped smelling butts.) Although now he’s BARKING LIKE A DOG.
He barks at me when I get home from work. He barks at passerby’s on the street. He barks at his 76-year-old great grandmother.
He’s supposed to know 10 words by the time he’s 18 months. Today he turned 17 months, and he can say three words:
1. “Ball” pronounced “Ba-ow” (with a sort of Mandarin accent we can’t explain?)
2. “Car” pronounced “Ca-ow”
3. “Yeah” pronounced “Yeah!” This is the answer to any question at all. Are you hungry? YEAH! Are you tired? YEAH! Are you a girl? YEAH!
And now “woof” makes new word number four. Does that even count?
I doubt he can learn seven new words in the next four weeks, so we’ll go ahead and count it.
I can’t help but worry that he’ll be behind. Isn’t that every mother’s fear? (But I also worry that he’ll be too smart and not have any friends, which could actually be worse.)
Oh the worry.
What I’ve decided is that Colt may not be the next Robert Frost, but he can eat pot roast and potatoes with a fork, so I’m pretty sure he’s gifted.