Poke

In her darling hoarse voice, Breanna has started trying to copy me when I've encouraged her to poke her arms through the cute little sleeves of her cute little clothes. Each morning we put on a onesie and then a shirt, so that's four times I tell her to poke before we even have breakfast. Sometimes, we have pantlegs to get into, too, so that's another two pokes. In the evenings after baths, we poke again into onesies and jammies. I guess she hears it a lot. Tonight after her bath, I was dressing her for bed and when I told her to poke, she looked at me and squeaked a "poke" out. I said "poke" again, and she repeated again.

My darling sister was here to help out, and she, too, heard the "poke." Ladies and gentlemen, we have a talker! Of all the first words! At least it wasn't "toot" or "poop" or "exhausted" or something else we talk a lot about at our house.

(For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure that she was looking at me and repeating "Mama" last Saturday morning. She hasn't said it since, so I'm not counting it. It melted my heart nonetheless. But since my DH swears that both girls' first word will be "Dada," I'll keep all this a secret. He was practicing "Dada" with them even when they were still in the womb. Good thing he doesn't read my blog or his heart would be broken.)