Gifted. For sure.

Back before the babies were born, in the days of specialists and death threats, there was one particularly bad day that still stands out. I had gone up to Baltimore early in the week for the usual battery of Doppler forecasts, which always pointed to some kind of Category 4 hurricane churning in my belly. And then, I went to see the pediatric cardiologist at Georgetown, who did his own measurements.

I came to like and respect both of these doctors very much. (And I'm pretty nuts about doctors. And schools. My two pet peeves.) But the latter, the cardiologist with awesome toys and Vineyard Vines ties, had some not-great news. One of the babies, he said, wasn't getting enough blood to her brain. Well, what the hell does that mean?? Eh, I'm not a brain specialist, he said sadly.

Quick: On to the phone with Baltimore. Where Dr. B. said confidently, "Absolutely not!" The blood flow was fine, he insisted. And he added, a little snarkily, "It's very difficult to get accurate measurements." Between the two of them, we never really got a straight answer. But, of course, we were able to imagine (say, at 4 a.m.) just exactly what it meant: One of the babies would have brain damage.

So, now they're here, and they're what.. 19 months old? Good grief. And the thing is, I can't remember anymore who was supposed to have brain damage. It could have been Josephine, since she was pretty much deprived of everything, but it also could have been Margaret, since she did have more significant heart issues.

Anyway, of course I have been watching them closely for any sign of stupidity. And it has been somewhat troubling that Josephine refuses to speak. While Margaret chatters on and on and on -- Coooo-KEY? And sings her ba-ba song: BaaaBA! Babababa! And her Mommy songs... Josephine does not. The other day, David said to Josephine: "Josie, say something!"

And she stuck out her tongue.

So, she does understand... yes.

But then, last night, at 3:10 a.m., I heard a loooong wail. The sound of a baby with a wet diaper. I opened the door, Josephine popped up and said, as clear as day (which it most definitely wasn't): MOMMMMMY!

She speaks!

And Margaret... well, yesterday, David caught her talking to her reflection in the chrome garbage can. She popped her pacifier out of her mouth, offered it to the funny Margaret in the mirror, and said, "COO-Key??"