Lila: What's on your shirt, Daddy?
Husband: It's a super hero.
Lila: Grover's a super hero!
Husband: Yep. Mommy got me this shirt because she thinks I'm a super hero.
Lila: Ha! That's silly!
Husband: (indignant) It's not that silly.
In the car...
Lila: What's on my window?!
Me: It's bird poop.
Lila: I don't want da bird to poop on my window!
Me: Well, we can clean it off when we get home.
Lila: (in a bossy, know-it-all tone of voice) Birds need to poop in da grass! Just like doggies and kitties and cows.
Over the monitor...
(after a half an hour of silence during which we assumed she was asleep)
Lila: Mommy! Mommy! Mommy, I so tired! Mommy, I so tired!
Lila: Mommy! I so tired but I POOOOOOPPED!
Walking past the bras in Target...
Lila: (pointing at each bra and proclaiming at the top of her lungs) Those are for boobs! And those are for boobs! And those are for boobs!
(and then later as we passed an, erm, ample-breasted woman)
Lila: Mommy! She has boobs just like you!
And these are just the conversations I thought to write down! Sometimes I look at her and I think, "You really are your own little person, aren't you?" It's enough to fill a mama with equal amounts pride (in her growing, budding intelligence and talents) and humiliation (at the things she might shout for all the Target world to hear)!