Baby Sign me Up

A few weeks ago, I started tossing a few baby signs at Gavin throughout our daily routine. I did so out of intrigue and curiosity - how cool if we can communicate before he can talk! - but I wasn't sure if it would work, or what kind of parent I would turn into if it did.

At first, when I'd say a word and perform the corresponding sign, repeatedly and enthusiastically, the way people tend to do when teaching small children or animals, Gavin just kind of looked at me like, "Oh, great. Mom's got Tourette's or something."

So, excited barely expresses what I felt when, one day in the courtyard outside our condo, Gavin pointed to a neighbor's dog and let out a few pants. "YES!" I scream-squealed, scaring both Gavin and the neighbor. "Doggie! Good boy!"

Since then we've added a few others to the repertoire. Flower, birdie, fish, froggie, raining. Every time he makes one of the signs I lose control of my dignity - shrieking, dancing, or otherwise metaphorically wetting myself. I tend to forget where I am, what I'm doing, and any type of social appropriateness when Gavin signs.

For example, the other night we were on St. Simons Island so that Jon could attend a law-related seminar/conference. At the event's reception, we were mingling, me holding Gavin, Jon holding our drinks, when we struck up a conversation with a man in a bright red and white flowered Hawaiian shirt.

"That's a great shirt!" I offered, because if there's anything I can surmise about Hawaiian shirts, it's that people wear them to start conversations.

"Yup - had to go all the way to Hawaii to get it," he chortled. Jon was commenting on what a rough trip that must have been when Gavin pointed at the man's shirt, sniffing furiously. I cried, "That's right! Good boy! Good boy!" and, lost in the moment, started sniffing furiously myself.

One of us did clarify to Mr. Hawaiian Shirt that sniffing was a baby sign for flower (I think it was Jon), but not before a few beats had passed in which the gentleman looked a little bewildered, perhaps wondering if his deodorant had worn off, and why I was encouraging my child's bad manners.

So yeah, it's official. With the exception of unpleasant things like night waking, biting or hitting, I'm one of those annoying parents who is convinced everything her child does is worthy of celebration, regardless of context. I remember making that judgment toward others in my pre-baby life, and vaguely recall the accompanying sense of cynicism, but it's something I can't recapture. I'm too giddy.