A baby is a miracle

And the trilling syllables turn into words and she has her own ones. The glass pane in the roof is the skyling, the pretty thing in the garden is a Monica butterfly. She has so very many words. On holiday, in a lagoon, the boat captain asks as we're getting out: "She has an off switch?" And we say no she does not and we do not think this is at all a bad thing. We have a talker.