he answered. with a full sentence.

He’s still just such a little man.

And maybe it’s because he is Number Six and has no real need to speak at length,

but our little Otto Fox Wilder has yet to really begin full-on conversations.

Oh – he communicates.

And he babbles and has standard inflections and a rhythm to his conversations.

But you can’t usually understand very many specific words

and he has never yet formed an entire make-sense sentence.

Until dinner time last night.

There was spaghetti on his plate.

A fork in his hand.

A cup of chocolate milk by his napkin.

Otto began to make bird noises.

Like a little cuckoo bird.

(From a song Kevin plays frequently for the kids.)

Kevin looked at his last micro man and asked him a question.

Like he does all the time.

Even when the answer is just a sweet little garbled sludge of sounds.

Kevin asked, “Are you a little cuckoo bird, son?”

And we all kept talking.

(Because that’s what happens at our dinner table.  And in our car.  And in the living room.)

But this time Otto Fox looked at his daddy and answered,

“No.  I not a cuckoo bird, Da-da.”

Lucky for us,

Otto-man was happy to repeat this phrase over and over again at the dinner table.

And over again.

Just in case we missed it.

Pretty sure I’ll be asking him to repeat this phrase half a dozen times tomorrow.

Or more.