A Conversation.. or at least words

Jackson here. Something exciting's happening here at the DeWitt house. Donovan is starting to speak. If we're using Grnadma Coffman's system, he's ready to become an auctioneer; but on a more realistic scale, he has indeed uttered his first word.

And that word is... (drum roll, please)...: Mama.

That's right. Not Jackson. Not baseball. Not even donut. Mama. As in: "Where's my Mama?"

She walks in a room. "Mama." She picks him up and tickles him. "Mama." A pillow falls off the couch onto his favorite toy. "Mama."

If nothing else, it proves that Donovan is politically savvy. He knows where the power is and he's going to use his considerable (but not up to my level) ability to look cute and canoodle with the Boss.

He also makes some other noises that could be categorized as words, but aren't yet being used enough (and in the correct context) to count. Here's a transcript of one of our more recent conversations:

Me: Donovan, you're looking well. Nice shirt. Pants are a little tight, but what are you going to do? Do you agree that it would be a fine idea to watch the Bob The Builder movie in which Bob and his hilarious sidekicks get into yet another sticky situation, and yet find some way to solve their problem within the allocated 15-minute time period?

Donovan: Uh-oh.

Me: Well said, little brother. Well said. Whom shall we get to initiate this fine piece of video entertainment?

Donovan: Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da.

Me: Correct again. You're going to work out just fine, as long as you stay away from any and all toys that are mine -- and they're all mine, by the way.

(I get up and walk to bottom of stairs)

DAAAAAAAAAAD! DONOVAN AND I WANNA WATCH A MOOOOOOOOVIEEEEEEEEEE!

End.

See what I mean? He's talking. I think I want him to stop now, as my movie is about to begin... Donovan stop talking... And stop eating my Clifford book... And that piece of train track is NOT yours... GIMME IT!... MAMAAAAAAAA!