The words are coming, sometimes fast and furious, and other times slow and agreeable.

"Tank coo" has been a staple for a while, but joining the menu lately have been delicious little coversational words such as "Peas," and "Good" and "OK" and "DAT?, as in "what's that?"

Yet, it seems that although he's at the very beginning of verbal conversation, he's much more mature in his ability to argue.

For a while now he's been walking right up to me and damanding to nurse by looking me directly in the eye and yelling "MILK."

If I don't reach for the clip on my nursing bra immediately he doubles up on the demand.

"MILK. MILK."

When I continue to hold him off, he lowers the volume and adds a plaintlve little trill to the end of the word, like a question ... "milk? milk?"

If he stands there unsatisfied he starts stamping his feet and screaming "MILK! MILK! MILK!"

I've taken the opportunity to work on patience. I pick him up and walk him around the kitchen. I tell him I have things to do, and I name them. "First I have to feed the dog, and then I have to get a drink for your sister. When those are done I'll give you milk, OK?"

And he smiles. "OK."

Sometimes, after he's calm and I've put him down, he forgets his request and runs off to play.

When I find him, instead of claiming his meal, he holds the blocks that Santa gave him for Christmas, signaling the primordial game: "What sound with this animal make if it were made of flesh and bone instead of maple and paint?"

Sometimes he answers, sometimes he waits for me to tell him, and then he disagrees.

ME: "What does the cow say, Silas?"
SILAS: *blink-blink*
ME: The cow says 'MOO'."
SILAS: 'NO! Moo, Moo!'

Come to think of it, I think he's learning A LOT from his sister.