Thora's Conversation Skills: Exciting and Yet Excruciating

Thora turned 17 months old on Thursday. And she seems to be changing before my eyes. Here is an exchange that can be overheard on our twice-daily walks to the dog's off-leash park and a gazillion other times in between:

Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"
Me: "Yes. There's a light. But that light is off. Off. OFF."
Thora: "On. On. ON!"
Me: "It's a light. That light is off."
Thora: "On. On."
Me: "Oooh, there's a light that's on. That light is on. On. ON."
Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"

Let me remind you that the dog's walk takes about 35 minutes roundtrip. And for the most part, this is our interaction--the WHOLE WAY--with little variation. Once we get to the park, it turns into her saying "hi" to the dogs and doing her new dog sound "Woo woo woo woo," and saying "Poo? Poo?" when Georgia goes off to the other end of the park to "do her business." But then, once we leave the park, and start passing all those houses, with all those porch lights... Well, just writing this gets me a little fatigued.

So--this will seem unrelated, but I promise, I bring it back around--last week, at the playground that has a sprinkler, Thora started using the word "Nunny" for "Running" in the context of "Mommy, pick me up and run us through that sprinkler!" Needless to say, I was quite tickled with this new concept. Not the "Make Mom Run Through The Sprinkler" concept, but that she, right before my eyes, conveyed an idea that, before this moment, she'd been unable to articulate.

A little background: this sprinkler has two cycles, a high-arching, high-pressure spray, and the lower pressure that mirrors the flow of water coming out of a garden hose. And the funny thing is that Thora only wants me to run her through the water when the spray is high and arching, like rain. (Initially she first said, "Nay. NAY," which means "rain.") She generally plays for a minute or two on her own in the garden-hose spray, and then when the rain-spray comes on, she runs up to me, saying "Nunny! Nunny," with an occasional "Muh-moo, muh-moo," which means "more" and is almost always accompanied by the sign for "more". So I pick her up and run through the sprinklers.

The use of "nunny" has since expanded to accompany pointing at my running shoes or at my ipod (which I only use when I run by myself). But back to the first day she used the word, when we'd been at the park playing in the sprinklers. Later, we were doing our afternoon walk to the dog park. A man passed us pushing a jogging stroller. "Nunny!" she said. How smart she is, I thought. My desire to encourage her: boundless. My joy at the new conversational focus beyond porch lights and their enigmatic status of being on or off: ecstatic.

Me: "Yes, running. Running. He's running."
Thora: "Nunny. Nunny!"
Me: "Running. Yes, he's running."

This went on for about 2-3 more minutes, with little variation. I was so proud of her, that she's making these connections, that she can apply a concept to different situations, that she can use new words in the right contexts. A few minutes later, we got to the corner and began following a street that many bicyclers use. And I pointed them out, hoping to ride the wave of language acquisition.

Me: "Look, she's riding her bicycle. Riding."
Thora: "Nunny."
Me: "No, riding. RI-ding. RI-ding her bicycle."
Thora: "Nunny."

It went like this for next minute or so, until we got to the dog park, where the lesson was suspended. ("Hi!" and "Woo Woo Woo," and "Poo?") But we picked it back up when I saw the next bike rider.

Me: "Look, he's riding his bicycle. Ri-ding. RI-ding."
Thora: "Nunny."

Then I tried a different tactic.

Me: "When you run, you run on your two legs."

And I started to jog. Oh, something I should mention is that Thora weighs around 30 pounds and I wear her on my back in an Ergo baby carrier (which I couldn't recommend more highly). And so running in this circumstance is ridiculous-looking and more importantly, uncomfortable. I was only able to run like that for about 10 paces. And then I hear from over my shoulder, "Muh-moo. Muh-moo," accompanied by the baby-sign for "more" which I can feel between my shoulder blades.

Me: "Okay. Mommy's running. Running."

And again, the second I stop, I hear "Nunny. NUNNY!" with the baby-sign for "more." I accommodated. And accommodated. Let me tell you, before I write the next few sentences, that I did this for several blocks, before I said what I thought I wouldn't ever say. I said:

"Is that light on?"