Things in our house have been a little one the interesting side for me lately. Child number three has been talking up a storm. And by talking up a storm, I really mean that he has his own dialect and I normally don’t understand a lick of what he’s talking about. Which means he gets frustrated. Which means I get frustrated. And some crying usually follows. (Not by me, don’t worry).

He really does try to say words, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to make a lot of sounds– s/c, g, t.  He speaks gibberish often, but even when he’s trying to say a real word, he is very hard to understand. Except in the case of the words taco, go, dada and momma, which he says completely correctly. Everything else needs a translator.

His language quite literally has exploded the past couple of weeks though, so I’m hoping that in a few more, he might have some better pronunciation of a few words. It should would help this momma out!

On a positive note, the fact that he’s talking makes me super relieved.  He was a late bloomer in the “first word” department, along with the “clapping” department and the “pointing with a finger” department. I know they grow at their own pace, but when the pediatrician is concerned, it makes ahem. . . mommy concerned too.