She’s saying things with her mouth these days

They make me stop, pause the chopping of whatever thing and the folding of the whatever thing and the walking whatever thing to whatever place it should live.

Counting aloud to herself

Saying “awwww” while she pats whatever soft animal or doll is in her reach

Finishing a book with a “mashhh” when she means “mas,” “mas libros”

Telling a fantastic story – while kicking her leg in the air – about the moto she saw pop a wheely down south van ness during rush hour, a long string of sounds and head nods, ending with a big “YEAH” as a flourish for emphasis

It’s with urgency all of these things are spilling out of her, all sorts of sounds and punctuation and exhales forcing their way over her tiny lips

Before, only using her hands to sign and gesture wildly

People – when I mean people, it’s the well-meaning seatmates on the plane, the fireman in the coffee shop, the clerk in the grocery line –

People tell me, oh watch out. The toddler years will get you. And if they don’t, the teen years will.

Right.

Parenting by strangers, parenting by observers, parenting by society.

What am I missing, I think?

What existential dread in the land of parenthood should I be feeling next?

Or are people telling me I should feel?

And I simply don’t.

Instead, I settle in and listen to her in the room next to me, chatting about the Pooh bear on her toothbrush, as she sits on the mat on the cool bathroom floor.

And she says, loudly, plainly, clearly, “Mama.”