At 20 months old, Finn has become a bit of a chatterbox of late. While his enunciation still needs work, there isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t catch him trying to repeat something we’ve said.
Last night he ate a popsicle on the front porch. The sticky drips he left behind began attracting ants almost immediately. So I went in the house, filled a pitcher of water, dumped in on the spilled popsicle and washed away the mess.
Finn wasted no time in gleefully stomping and splashing his bare feet in the puddle, but not before, for the first in his life, as clearly as if you or I had spoken it, squealed with delight and said, “Yeah baby!”