. . . is gone forever, I’m afraid.

I first noticed it on Wednesday evening. Olivia, who hadn’t had a nap all day, was saying one thing, and then repeating it over and over and over and over AND OVER again, until Wyatt or I acknowledged what she said . . . not just that she said something, but WHAT she said–a problem since I still only understand about 25% of what she says. “She must be tired,” I told Wyatt. I knew that wasn’t the reason. But insanity gave me hope.

Now, several days later, reality has conquered hope. It wasn’t a lack of sleep, or an overdose of sugar, or any other plethora of excuses I tried making to myself in the ensuing days. It’s a developmental stage. I’ve seen other kids go through it, wondering how other parents handle the constant chatter, the constant nagging for a response to any and every thought that pops into a two year old mind. And now, here I am. I still don’t know! Olivia eschews every thought and happenstance with great insistence and force.

I am afraid gone are the days of quiet moments and thoughtful introspect. Now it is – “no, Olivia, we can’t ride the horsies,” and “yes Olivia, the chicken is white,” and “I’m glad you think marshmallows make good treats for turkeys.” Even when she’s in bed, and I sit alone at the computer to write, her heartfelt babble echoes in my head. It makes for good company.