Yesterday evening after work I was chopping cucumbers for a salad (I have us on a temporary veggie binge following a weekend steak binge and in preparation for a long-weekend New Orleans southern fried binge) and saying “Chop! Chop! Chop!” with each slice.
Stellan was in the kitchen with me, in his stander, and doing one of his little half-laughs after every “Chop!”
The Ellie dog was hovering around, hoping for something – anything – to drop. Even a piece of cucumber.
At one point, Ellie stood next to Stellan and he looked over at her, as he often does these days, and smiled. He started to reach out his hand to touch her fur. She sat next to him and I asked Stellan, “Who is that? Is that your DOG? Ellie dog! Dog! Dog! Dog!” Like a maniac. Chop! Chop! Chop! Dog! Dog! Dog!
And then Stellan, looking right at her, kind of yelped, “DOG.”
Followed by a lot of “ugg uggh doo guudhhh.” None of which stopped me from officially considering that Stellan’s first word. Not Mama, not Dada… DOG.
I’ll take it.