This morning, while we were eating breakfast, your Daddy said that he had a dream about you.
“You did?” I said. “That’s fun. What was it about?”
“It was about how she started talking really early. Like, at three months old.” he replied.
I had walked into the other room, I think to grab the iPad that I’d left in the office the night before, so I yelled my response enthusiastically, “YEAH DUH! Because she’s gonna be a GENIUS!”
But he wasn’t done.
“It wasn’t just how early she talked, it was what she said, her first word.”
“What was it?”
“It was rigamarole.”
We laughed and laughed and laughed. I mean, rigamarole? It was great.
Tonight at dinner, he mentioned it again. We were having flank steak, something that we’ve indulged in at least once or twice a month for the past several months. It’s that famous flank steak recipe. You know, the one that my side of the family jokes is what they would serve the Pope if he came to visit? Well, except we’re not Catholic, well, some of my extended family is, but it’s lip-smacking good. Anyway, you get the point.
We were eating flank steak. With that fancy marinade. And it was delicious. And Daddy said, out of the blue, “If her first word isn’t rigamarole, it’s definitely gonna be flank steak.”
And I laughed again. And he laughed again.
And then we both got quiet for a minute, because we can’t wait. No matter if it’s at 3 months (We know you’re going to be smart, Babygirl, but no need to place unrealistic expectations on yourself. Give it a little more time than that. Like, maybe 5 months?) or 3 years when you utter your first words, no matter if it’s flank steak or rigamarole or Dada or doggie, we can’t wait.
It’s going to be music to our ears.