But mostly we talk all day. Little Sammie is a talker. She likes to chat and then discuss. And then she likes to recap. Anything worth saying is worth saying five, six times in a row. No nuance is too small.
These are pretty.
Yep, they sure are.
Mommy? Aren't these pretty?
Mommy? Mommy? These slippers are pretty.
Yes, very pretty.
Mommy? Do you know why they are pretty?
Um. No. Because they're pink?
Um. Yes. Mommy? Mommy?
Mommy, do you like pink?
I do like pink. Do you like pink?
I like pink, too. Mommy!
Mommy, we both like pink.
Mommy, I like pink and you like pink.
Yes. All true.
Um. Mommy? Mommy?
These are my pretty pink slippers.
Mommy! Look at them!
I'm looking, honey. Mommy just needs to run upstairs for a second (and jump out the window.)
She is precocious and hilarious and can say the word Mommy (or Daddy) every twenty to forty five seconds for about six hours in a row. Neither Larry and I do much talking, so we don't know quite how to cope with her wall of sound.
So, of course trying to do any writing on a day like this is a struggle. By the time we get home from gymnastics class, it's nearly five and I'm in a mad dash over dinner and battling chat fatigue.
THE EXERCISE: Set small goals. Pick a scene from any story or essay and write three sentences, a beginning, a middle and an end. Remember that even the tiniest step is progress.