I'm asked sometimes whether my kids ever talk.
OH yes, they talk. They talk about elephants, and bees, and chocolate bunnies. They talk about coffee (Steven will take his with one Equal, please) (not really, he picked that up from Daddy) and offer you "more?" and "more?" and "more?" and "more?" until you're nearly shaking from the imaginary caffeine from all the pantomimed refills. They talk about Grandmas (or "Gran-maaaaaw," to my mom's exasperated delight) and Grandpas and their cousins and aunts and uncles and dogs. They talk about P(in)occhio and "Lion Cub" (Lion King) and Dumbo and Batman, frequently inventing stories where Pocchio eventually turns into a "weal-ife lion!"
They talk in voices, experimenting with pitch and timbre; they talk in song, exploring ways to play with words to change meaning and create silly nonsense (did you know the corn on the bus goes clink clink clink?); they talk in sweet hushed voices I can't hear from the front seat of the car. They talk in bed, telling each other stories in the dark for hours after bedtime, waking each other (well, her waking him, and me, and Daddy) early every morning with a top-of-the-lungs "A-B-C-D-E-F-G I LOVE YOU YOU LOVE ME WE'RE A HAPPY FAMILY."
Eleanor will tell you all about her new camera (pronounced "grandma," to my mom's utter befuddlement), and Steven will tell you all his favorite things to eat (Pi-sah Booty, Goldfish, chocolate bunny, sammich, chocolate bunny, pee-dah buttah, chocolate bunny... Easter had a big impact around here) - but only if you've hit the mysterious magical Threshold of Familiarity. Believe me, you'll know when you get there... you'll never hear the end of it.