(Originally published in the June 2010 issue of New York Family.)
Lola will be 20 months old this month. It’s about to happen. I know, everybody tells me, one day, out of nowhere, just like that, she’ll be talking. In sentences.
She’s at the precipice now. Words pop out, here and there, some semi-formed that only my wife and I understand (more my wife). It’s a wonder to behold. Lola beams with pride every time she says a new word. “Didja hear that?” I say to my wife after a naked, soap-sudded Lola shifts her position in the bath tub, points to her tiny rear end and screams “Bum!” (My wife is Canadian. They borrow certain colloquialisms from the British.) We giggle. Yet I can’t help but feel like I’m losing something.