I do think she has a highly developed brain though — I can see her thinking all kinds of thoughts, she just can’t share them out loud yet. When I take too long too put on her onesie because I can’t get her arm to bend into the sleeve hole I can almost hear her sigh and say, “Are you kidding me with this? 4 minutes to put on a shirt? maybe you need to go back to remedial parenting classes. I have things to do woman!!! Hurry up!” She waves her fist in the air and does her baby growl.
But yet when my husband (the beloved Dada) takes 20 minutes to put her in her PJ’s (and they end up on backwards with a pacifier and a peed on sock trapped inside) she looks up at him admiringly. She bats her eye lashes and thinks, “Awww. What a good Dad. You tried sooooo hard. You’ll do better next time.” She hugs him around the neck and pats his back with her chubby little baby fingers. I roll my eyes. She looks at me over her Dad’s shoulder and sticks out her pink tongue, which may be the baby equivalent of the finger, and thinks, “What are you looking at? I’ll deal with you later.” She then resumes her charming gurgling and laughing for her dad. “Isn’t she the best baby ever?” my husband gushes and he isn’t one to gush. He repositions her so she is cradled in his arms. While he watches the Red Sox’s play the Yankees, I watch the baby rub her palms back and forth while she looks at me through narrowed eyes, plotting.