The Chicken Butt Experience

Sis has really been blossoming lately. It’s like something in her brain finally clicked into place — cause and effect, consequences, the whole package. She’s starting to realize it’s easier to just follow directions than argue with me every five seconds (praise be).

And it’s wild how much more fun everything is now. We can actually go out and about without me sweating through my shirt trying to keep her from bolting across the parking lot like a feral gazelle. She listens when I ask her to do things. She can hold a real back-and-forth conversation now instead of just dumping every single thought she’s ever had into the air like confetti. For the longest time she kept it all inside — practicing her little sounds in secret, refusing to answer unless she was positive she was right. And now? She’s out here narrating life like she’s got her own podcast.

And she’s on a joke kick. Every three minutes it’s, “Guess what?” and before you can breathe she’s yelling “CHICKEN BUTT!” like she just invented stand-up. Now Bubs does it too. I live with a two-person improv team whose entire set is one punchline—and it kills every time.

We spent a few months thinking she might not talk at all… and suddenly we can’t get her to shut the hell up. (And honestly? I love it.)

And then there’s Bubs. Oh man. This kid is a sponge with legs. He copies everything — what Sis says, what I say, even the cat’s meows. He’s already got more words than most babies I’ve met, even if half of them sound like he’s gargling a Cheerio. The best part? He latches onto the last syllable of every word he hears. So “Auntie” somehow turned into Teetee. And listen… I’m never correcting him. The day he stops calling me Teetee, I’ll probably cry into a box of Cheez-It’s.

Moral of the story? Watching their little brains come online is wild. It’s funny, it’s tender, it’s a little unhinged, and it’s pure magic to watch it unfold right in front of me.