Parker's baby book, like most baby books, only covered the first thirty six months of life, so I am recording details of "our baby at eighty months" here.
Parker, at eighty months, you were obsessed with the phrase "for no apparent reason." (Example: "Mom, the cats are all staring at me, for no apparent reason.") You also were just a wee bit obsessed with the Wii, and with your computer, and with games for the Wii or your computer that featured characters from the Star Wars universe. Hence, this discussion:
You: Mom, what time are we leaving in the morning?
Me: Same time that I usually leave for work. Maybe a little earlier than that.
You: So, from the time that I get up, we'll leave in one Star Wars Battlefront level after that?
It took me a minute to realize that you were not necessarily committing yourself to playing Star Wars Battlefront but that, rather, you were referring to "one Star Wars Battlefront level" AS AN INCREMENT OF TIME. I was unable to answer your question, given that I HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG IT TAKES A PERSON TO COMPLETE A STAR WARS BATTLEFRONT LEVEL, given that the idea of playing Star Wars Battlefront, or even watching someone play it, IS SLIGHTLY LESS APPEALING TO ME THAN A POKE IN THE EYE WITH A SHARP STICK.
Finally, you continue to drive everyone around you batty with your insistent need to fill your every waking moment with some sort of noise. If you aren't singing, you are humming, or talking to yourself. I tune most of it out, but occasionally snippets of monologue will register. Like this one: "You and Dad are equally awesome."
Me: Did you say that Dad and I are equally awesome?
You: Yes, because you are awesome. And Dad is awesome. And you are awesome in the same amount.
Aww. And you just wanted to tell me that.
For no apparent reason.
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