Two Things About Ian

Just as I wrote that Ian doesn't seem to need words, he's developed a fixation on aquiring names for things. I guess he figures that now he can run a little, and kick a ball, and hop, all before falling down, that it's time to move on to the next thing.

Poor little guy. So far he can only pronounce first consonants. And the three most important words in his infant lexicon begin with the letter 'B'.

Bottle.

Bed.

Ball.

At least with 'outside' I can catch an 'ah-DUH!' while he stares longingly out the window to make it especially clear. "Mamama" still hasn't been delimited to indicate me alone; it seems to be his expression of need or longing. "Dadada" refers to his Dad, to fun in general, and to all males, the mere presence of whom Ian seems to take as the manifestation of a miracle. (In Wisconsin he has five aunts and three great-aunts; but only two uncles and two great-uncles.)

But oh, those 'B' words.

"Buh" he says. "Buh. Buh." With an expression of intensest concentration. I look around in bewilderment. What does he expect of me?

"Buh. Buh. Buh. Buh."

"Ball?" I try. "Ball? Does Little Baby Ian want his ball?"

"nBUH! nBUH!"

"Bottle? Is that it, do you want your bottle?"

(Pumping arms up and down now.)

"BUH, BUH, BUH! nBUH, BUH, BUHbbbbbbbb!"

"Bed? Does Little Baby Ian want to go to Bed?"

Ian freezes; this is it. He smiles at me and very carefully puts out his arms.

Things were easier when he just fetched his bottle and crawled off toward his room.

***

Today I wrote Ian's name in big capital letters over the length of a piece of paper. "Ee - A - Nuh" I pronounced, pointing to the letters, then "EEEEAAAANNNN" and finally, "Ian. Ian." over and over. I don't think I've every seen more love in his face. He wasn't sure what I was doing but he knew the attention was very very personal.