In 2007, I wrote a poem about a girl. I don't have it with me anymore and I don't remember anything about that poem today except that it had a 'garrulous lass' in it.
The long vacant office of the 'garrulous lass' has a new occupant now. And boy does she love talking!
From goo goos and ga gas to peacock like screeches to Arabic, Japanese, and Bhojpuri sounding noises, this kid has a vast vocabulary in her repertoire. Add to it the fact that Grandpa has extremely mature conversations with her everyday and Dad reads Jack and the Bean stalk and was contemplating reading Tuesdays with Morrie (It was my read this weekend and I was really tempted to multi task) to her. So while she still can't talk, or to be more precise, while we can't currently understand what she is trying to talk about, she still tries really hard to make us understand.
There is a melodic lilt, a cogent intent, and a definite message in those cryptic aural delights that we are treated to; more and more often with every passing day.
As a boy, I feel sorry for the boys who will have the fortune / misfortune of coming in contact with my daughter. She is going to mesmerize and wound as many hapless souls with her words as with her gaze. The kind of trouble this heady concoction of beauty and intelligence invites is not funny. I worry about this too from time to time and think that this is a prophetic inevitability that I brought upon myself when I wrote that poem.
P.S: 3 and a half months in, being a parent is definitely much tougher than getting and raising a Dog or a pet. But through the discomfort you can clearly see the magic happening to your own self. As I mentioned in one of the earlier posts, the finished product is not the child; it is the parent.
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