Language has come to the forefront in my thinking, once again. Why is it so important to speak correctly and articulately, when most of us agree it usually lacks the real communication we so desperately need when feeling is involved? How can there be such a plethora of synonyms when what we really crave is the touch of a hand, a caring gaze, maybe a nibble on the neck? Is it because hearing is the last of the evolutionary senses and human language came so late in the game? Do we often search for the simplicity of mom's caress on the forehead, a mere hushing sound? Why was I so able to understand my infant son, when I knew full well he didn't speak a lick of English or French? When does our fall from the grace of human comprehension actually occur? One beautifully written book I can recommend is by Dean Falk, Finding Their Tongues: The Rise of Motherese and How it Led to the Development of Language, Music and Art. This anthropologist's work on the evolution of mother and infant communication made me reconsider what it means to be a mommy and philologist, translator and learner. Not only was I completely enthralled by my son, but I was also observing him as a linguist might. In the past two weeks, he has finally begun to repeat two-syllable words in English and French, making his father and me truly proud. Then again, he also has to hug and kiss a girl or two when I pick him up from daycare. Yeah, Dad's French and Mom's a flirt. God help us all.