The M Words

Yesterday I finally caught up to Westley on the whole "having words" thing.

While we were waiting for dinner to come out of the oven, Westley cried for "Mama." Mournful as hell, too. "Mama-aaa...Mama-aaaaa!" More of a sob than a word, but still recognizable, with real tears to go along with it, which I think he conjures up on purpose to break my heart.

I took him from Rob, and he brightened for a moment, only to start talking pitifully again. "Momomo. Mo-mo."

I racked my brain. He'd nursed recently, but I guessed it was possible he wanted some more.

"Milk?" I asked, trying to move him into position. "You want some milk?"

His face crumpled. "Waaaaah!"

Okay, no. Not milk. Apparently, when my mother was a baby learning to talk, she would cry when my grandmother guessed the wrong word. I wondered if Westley might be the same way, and decided to guess until I got it. But what was "mo" supposed to be?

"More?" I asked. "You want more-more?"

Westley stopped crying and stared at me. You got it, Mommy.

"Omigod," I turned to Rob. "He's saying 'more-more.' He wants to eat table food!"

More-more somehow joined "bye-bye" and "night-night" as one of the repeated-word-words we say to Westley on a regular basis. And it only ever comes up when he's sitting in his highchair, being spoon-fed like a little king.

We strapped him in to his highchair, and I rushed to get some things that were already pureed into little bowls.

A few bites in, it was clear Westley was getting exactly what he'd asked for. "More?" Rob would ask, offering another spoonful. "More-more?"

Westley happily guided the spoon into his mouth, swallowed, and smiled. "Ha!" he proclaimed.

I think that's baby-speak for "Yes! I rule!"

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