Buru's only sounds consist of the many variations of the words "eh" "meh" "mehmeh" (that's me!) and "nyaaaa." Apparently, her sophisticated language is much too advanced for me to understand.
Screaming, whining, squirming in her high chair, I chalked it off to fussiness. Buru had a bowl of warmed-up spaghetti in front of her, usually enough for bliss.
"Nyaaaa!" she whined, pointing to her sister, who was slurping her spaghetti and quietly observing the scene.
"Do you want water? Do you need a change?" I sniffed her bottom. She must be teething.
I waved her sippy cup in front of her. "Nyaaaaa!"
Fussy, fussy baby. Standing at the sink and attempting to ignore, I heard this matter-of-fact revelation from the three-year-old kitchen table sage.
"Sigh. She wants a fork."
"What was that?"
"Tureedu shoka. So she can be big like Moona."
I went to the drawer and pulled out a fork. The whining instantly stopped and was replaced by a toothy smile and a vigorous nod.