Gab is good.

Parents await baby’s first word with a vigilance that rivals the arrival of baby himself.

The ability to communicate is one of the markers of leaving babyhood and entering full personhood.  In about 17 years, this ability will also be a marker of leaving home, and entering college.  Got SAT scores?

You know that hinky feeling your Aunt Edna gets in her belly when bad news is a comin’?

That used be called “Mother -wit.”  Now it’s called psychosomatic.

It’s a rare instinct that hasn’t been dulled by disrespect, replaced by reference libraries, or made out to be too primitive for these technology-based times.

The way that parents (most adults actually, in every studied culture, the world over) automatically talk when they’re talking to babies is an anthropological victory.  In the baby biz, we call that special language “Parentese.”

… is a process.  

Your baby’s first word, like your baby’s first step, is a journey, instead of the finish line we sometimes think it is.

I’m not trying to spoil anybody’s fun.  Your child’s first independent step is such a thrill that it’s dizzying.  Not for baby — for parents, I mean.  And the first recognizable word? Nothing less than an event — hey, I know the date, time, and GPS coordinates for my first kid’s first word, okay?

Yesterday, I talked about how crying is engineered to produce a response from parents and caregivers.

Just as an adorable baby is irresistible, an upset baby is difficult to ignore.  We have an instinct to want to make things alright.

I think crying is an amazing accomplishment on your baby’s part.  This is the sound of your resourceful baby, already organizing her communication skills into a message.  An attention-getting one, eh?