Ummmm.....

Baby books, pediatricians, baby yoga teachers, my own instincts. They all tell me I should talk to my baby.

But none of them tells me what to say.

I have trouble making small talk with people who carry one half of the conversation. Imagine my difficulties in coming up with an entire conversation on my own. If writing letters to Kai was as effective as talking, I'd be set. However, I've been told that listening and talking and learning how to carry on a conversation is important for a baby. So every day I face the challenge of coming up with something to say to mine.

When Jett was a baby and I was stumped for something to say to him, I'd simply narrate every single thing I was doing at that moment. He heard stunning commentary on unloading the dishwasher and folding the clothes. Diaper changes were a little more exciting because they lend themselves towards more colorful words and facial expressions. But still, it all felt a little forced. I felt ridiculous telling him that I was putting away the dinner plate on the second shelf, and asking him which dish I should put away next.

Sometimes I resort to reading my books and magazines aloud. It's not particularly engaging, I know, but I like to think that Kai likes the sound of my voice, and benefits from it alone. I know I benefit from it: Kai falls asleep only a few minutes in to every chapter.

Sometimes I sing. Wheels on the Bus, Itsy Bitsy Spider, Pour Some Sugar on Me, whatever. Singing seems like a pretty good alternative until I hear a sweet little voice at the other end of the couch, ("No ninning! No ninning!") begging me to stop hurting his ears with all my music.

One reason it's so difficult to think of anything to say to Kai is that he looks so wise. I look in to his eyes and I swear he knows everything I'm thinking anyway. This is how I imagine it:

Me: You are the cutest baby!
Kai: No kidding, Mom. Grandma was just here, remember? I heard it, like, ten times a day.

Me: Look at those little toes!
Kai: Dude. You talk about my toes all the time. Find another fabulous feature, would you?

Me: Smile for Mommy! Come on, give me a little smile!
Kai: Eye roll.

Me: Do you have a burp for Mommy? Is there a burp in there for Mommy?
Kai: Gag.



All I can think of is to tell him I love him, and then I look at those eyes and I swear he's telling me he already knows.

How important, then, is conversation? Isn't it enough to rest his cheek on my cheek? To hold his hand in my hand? To smooth down his hair and lay his head on my chest? Isn't that enough?