I was speaking with my neighbor Jen the other day - she who, traitorously, is moving away as soon as her house sells, taking Mak's favorite playmate 2 year-old Eddie and his little brother Ethan away with her. (Not that I'm bitter.... nooooooo. Not at all.)
Anyway, we were comparing notes about the charming insanities of our respective toddlers, and specifically about the ear-piercing shriek of her son, Eddie. His shriek is the mind-numbing, gut-clenching, head-ringing equivalent of an air raid siren, blasting from the tiny body of an angelic-looking child. You'd shake your head with the wonder of it, if you and any passing birds weren't already lying unconscious in the street.
My daughter has a holler, all right, but nothing like Eddie's. Her deal? She "whistles." As in putting two fingers from both little hands up to her mouth, inhaling deeply and pitching herself forward, whistling that pheeeeew-weeeeeeet! sound. Except it's not a whistle, it's just a remarkable mimic.
That's right. That near-perfect whistle is actually Makenna sing-yelling the sound with all the force of her little lungs, using that sweet, high-pitched voice found only in baby girls and Mike Tyson in a traffic-stopping bid for your attention.
She is so proud of her whistle and the startled faces that accompany it that once she's done, she'll pause with a huge grin on her face, politely awaiting your applause.
And in that bizarre way that nature has of thinking things like poop and off-key singing are wondrous and adorable if they come from your kid, I find her whistle absolutely charming and adorable and never stop thinking it's funny, even after the first 50 times.
Which, come to think of it, might explain why the neighbors are moving.
(I love you, baby girl!)
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