I've often thought that people have a set amount of words they have to get out each day. These "Word Quotas" compel us to make small talk, call people just to say hello, and engage in any conversation about the weather. Normal people have a daily word quota of about 5000. My brother Bear has a word quota of about 6, if you include grunts. My other brother Mike has a word quota of just over 4 billion. Being around him is like spending time under florescent lighting. It drains all your energy, gives you a migraine, and you're left with a dull buzzing in your ears that lasts for days.
Rachel's word quota defies math. Somewhere there is a number high enough to account for all the words she crams into one day, but it has yet to be named. Never mind getting a word in edgewise, good luck getting a word in if she's concious. Nay, good luck if she's breathing. She talks when she's awake. She talks in her sleep. She talks in class. She talks when there's nobody there to talk to. She talks to strangers. She talks about strangers. She talks to strangers like she's their long lost friend, and she needs to catch them up on everything that has happened since her birth. She sings in the shower. She'll carry on both sides of a conversation. She's talking right now, and I put her in bed an hour ago.
The Daddy got her a toy phone for her birthday. I think The Daddy hates me. She ran the batteries dead in two days. Never mind saving for college, I'm saving for her first phone bill.
All I want for Christmas is a good set of earplugs.