Last week we were driving to school with the kitten to share for a pet-themed show-and-tell. Trixie was holding Miss Cutie Pie in the back, playing with her. Then she told me that “Miss Cutie Pie’s eyes are like… little pieces of chocolate”. That stood out because it was the first time I ever heard her use a simile. And — I confirmed it with Jennifer later — she made it up by herself. The cat has cute eyes, but we’ve never compared them to chocolate. I like that. I like see little glimpses of how her brain works, and I didn’t want to forget it.

“Bigger? Like a grownup?”

“No, just a little bigger.”

“Like a college kid?”

“No, just a little bigger.”

“Like a taller girl? Or a taller boy? Like one of those??”

One of those? I don’t what Trixie is talking about, but it’s scary. One of those taller girls or boys? I’m picturing freaks. Eight, nine-foot tall freaks loping around the neighborhood searching for unlocked car doors to slam.

I look over my shoulder now when unloading groceries.

Her language evolution is relentless, yet so absolutely incremental that I have no idea how we arrived at the current point in time. One year ago it was simple object identification. Today it’s an assemblage of thoughts, feelings, observations, consideration of consequences and mimicry.

As a parent, it makes me proud. As a human, it completely blows my mind. Being able to witness firsthand how our species develops is probably the most amazing thing I will ever do with my life. The fact that I’m about the 100 billionth person to do it doesn’t diminish it for me at all. In fact, it just reaffirms how the experience is so universal.

The event that made the biggest impression was the first time she imparted knowledge to me. I do not remember what the knowledge was, or when it took place. It’s a shame. I was busy at the time – not writing – and you don’t always know what’s going to make an impression on you. But it was sometime around 6-9 months ago.

Prior to that point, you could communicate with Trixie, but the majority of the conversation was reaffirming things: “Are you hungry?”, “Do you want some juice?”, “You want Mommy to take you potty, right?”

In other words, it wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. At one point though, a question was asked out loud, maybe not even directly to Trixie, and she provided an answer that shared her knowledge.

It might have been something as simple as, “Where in the world is the TV controller?” But the answer to that inconsequential question was the first time Trixie ever educated me, with words and knowledge. It’s a striking realization, because you quickly understand how each generation eventually takes the reigns from the previous. Not in a depressing way, but more of a cycle of life that makes you appreciate being a part of something.

Anyway, that’s a little too heavy to think about when taking care of toddler. For the most part talking with Trixie is pure joy because you can actually communicate in interesting and unpredictable ways. Plus tantrums aside, she doesn’t let you get too stressed out about things. Her favorite thing to say when things go wrong is, “Wellll… that’s ok”.

“Trixie, there’s juice all over the floor!!”
“Trixie, you were supposed to be asleep TWO hours ago!!”
“Ah crap, we’re out of beer.”

The next important milestone will be when she can take care of that last problem. Then I’ll be really impressed.

I was like, what the hell? Where did you learn that? The answer, of course, is from everyone, everywhere. And unless the phrase or word is extremely specific, it’s next to impossible to pin down exactly where or at what point she picked up a particular piece of language.

This process is absolutely amazing to watch. And it’s actually one of those things that you do notice despite the fact that the change is incremental. It’s not like watching hair grow. You can see enormous advances over a single weekend as she acquires a new word, associates it with an object or action and then assembles it into a clunky, stilted verbal expression of what’s going on in her head.

Case in point: we beg her to go back to bed when she wakes up before 7am. A couple of days ago, she turned the tables on us. When I helped her back into her bed at 6:30 in the morning, she turned and pointed at me, “Go ta bed. Daddy. Now.” She knows that I badly want to go back to bed, but her articulation of that knowledge is so raw and straightforward that you can’t help but think that her brain is using brute force to string the words together in any way possible to get the point across.

She’s also learning new words at a record pace. On a whim I taught her the word “issues”. And I taught her to go poke at Mommy while chanting it. I stand at a safe distance and deny everything. She’s my secret language weapon and can never be turned against me. She’s going to be a hit at parties.

My mother’s name is Becky. Trixie knows her as BeckBeck. When I tell Trixie that BeckBeck is my mommy, her brow crumples, and her eyes get wide and she violently shakes her head back and forth in protest, screaming, “Nooo NOOOOOO!”

“Yes Trixie. BeckBeck is my mommy.”

Trixie: “No! That’s not true! That’s IMPOSSIBLE!”

“Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

“NOOO Nooooooo!”

Trixie then crumples to the ground whimpering and I resolve not tell her again for at least a day. Or maybe just until after her nap.

I say, “Knock, knock.”

Trixie’s got nothing.

“Trixie, say ‘who’s there?’, Ok? I’ll do it again.”

“Knock, knock”

Still nothing.

I fill in for her. ” Knock, knock. Who’s there?”

Trixie has plenty to say about that:
“MOMMY! MOMMMMMMY!!!”

Trixie will run around screaming Mommy for five minutes. That’s the sign of a very good joke. And it’s flexible. If Jenn is the one telling it, the punchline switches to “DADDY!” If you like edgier humor, the punchline is also sometimes “JUICE!” Need to clean it up because you’re telling the joke in front of the grandparents? Try “ELMO!” The only thing you can’t do with this joke it get to the real punchline. But that’s ok, she doesn’t really care about oranges and bananas anyway*.

*Orange you glad you’re not a banana.

For sure Trixie is doing plenty of entertaining things. Language is the primary distraction. She’s babbling worlds. Words like Moh!! (No) Buckshul!! (Buckle) and Heussse (Juice). We have conversations now: “Trixie, what did you have for lunch?” “BAY-BEES!!” “What do you want for dinner?” “Katttzz!”

The TPODs aren’t going anywhere. I’ll still have a new one up five days a week. They should be good ones, especially now that Trixie is helping out with the images.

We’re relieved. When Trixie turned one year old without talking we were a little worried. But over the past 7 months, our concerns about her language skills diminished because she’s doing most of the other stuff she’s supposed to, and, well, life goes on. Even though it’s not ‘normal’ for her to talk so late, there are plenty of anecdotal accounts about how so-and-so’s child didn’t talk until he was 11, and he turned out fine. He’s down at the docks, go ask him yourself.

In the meantime, we’re enjoying a daily barrage of words like “dog”, “woof”, “bat” (courtesy Sesame Street’s the Count) and her all time favorite, “baby.” Trixie loves babies to no end, and there’s no end to the number of times she’ll chant “Bay BEE!” over and over again while wildly rocking her arms back and forth.

However, the most interesting development happened yesterday when I realized Trixie was identifying herself for the first time. She doesn’t grab hold of her name the way she does the word baby, and drive it into the ground. It’s a more cautious, quiet embrace of the word, as if she’s pretty sure she’s Trixie — but not totally 100% sure.