The tower of babble

The Small Boy we put to bed Friday night was a man of few words. Think the Outlaw Josey Wales, only two feet tall and wearing diapers. Oh, he was certainly vocal, just not particularly verbal. He was good for a "Mmmmmmmm" and an "Aaaaaaooooooo" and if was really in the mood for it a "Hehheh." The Small Boy who woke up Saturday morning was like - I don't know. Is there any movie character I could possibly name that could save this metaphore? The Billy Crystal character in City Slickers? He was always chattering on the trail, right? Or Sister Sara in Two Mules for Sister Sara? At least that's still a Clint Eastwood movie. Oh forget it. It'll never work. Anyway, Small Boy woke up Saturday morning with a lot on his mind and a hankering to say it. "Ahbabababababa," he said to R. "Gababbaahbabagaboah," he said to the water bottle. "Ahbababababmmmmmababa," he said to nobody in particular. "Bababbadadada," he said to me. He babbled in bed with us. He babbled on the playmat. He babbled in the stroller. He babbled in the toy department. He babbled at the coffee house. He babbled in the lift.

He's clearly been saving up seven months worth of thoughts and observations and some time in the wee hours between Friday night and Saturday morning decided it was time to share.