A Mother-Son Talk

The time: 3 am
The place: His room, which I entered after hearing much pathetic whimpering over the monitor.

Him: Hi.

Me: Hi, buddy. What’s the matter?

Him: Babbo. (This is his word for pacifier, several of which are scattered on the floor by his crib)

Me: You lost your babbos, huh?

Him: Yeah.

Me: You want me to get them for you?

Him: Yeah.

Me: (after returning the lost babbos) Night-night, buddy.

Him: Night-night.

Now, I realize this isn’t the most scintillating of conversations. But when you consider the fact that the only thing resembling a conversation between my son and myself in the last 19 months has been him pointing at something and whining, and then me saying "What? WHAT? What do you WANT???" it’s freaking amazing.