Doggies. . .

Jeopardy here we come. At nine months old, my little fatty can now say quite a few words:

Dad/Dada
Cup (she likes to yell this out when she’s holding her bottle cap)
Dog/Doggie

LJ came with mommy last night to a Cookie Lee Jewelry party (a clever excuse to drink margaritas and gossip). The host of the party, Ms. Erin, has a sweet little mutt of a dog named Hannah. LJ lost her mind when she spotted this small dog - lost her mind in an arms flapping, drooling, Pterodactyl noises kinda way. Unfortunately for Hannah, LJ had 4 pounds on her. Luckily for Hannah, Lucy is still slightly slow and easily distracted. Oh yeah…the point: LJ kept pointing to the dog, staring at me, and saying “dog.” I was so proud.

The big question is why can’t the little fatty say Mama? Really? My ass grew to the size of Texas while I created kidneys and lungs for you - and you can’t say Mama?

Hopefully having an older brother who never shuts up (remember the day I wished he would talk more?) will help Lucy be advanced in the language department. Hopefully not in the “act like a 5 year old boy” sort of way. Holy crap!