Three years later I was promoted - the Executive Assistant to the Vice President of International Relations. International Relations. At least this sounded as exotic as my degrees. Our relations, though, were limited to Poles, Turks and Argentineans who were - thankfully - eager to practice their English skills on me. I was able, however, to say "hello" and "good morning" in Japanese to the manager of the Tokyo office.

Then I took the biggest promotion of my career. At the time I transferred to her office, my boss was two feet tall and weighed all of twelve pounds. She also drooled. But, then, what nine month old doesn't? Several months later, I'm finding that my foreign language skills are not only handy, but they give me a distinct edge over my coworker - er, husband - when it comes to understanding our suddenly vocal boss. <continued below>

"Cackulore," chirps my daughter, making a beeline for the den, "cackulore!"

"No, dear," my husband tries to redirect her, unsuccessfully. "You can't play with Mommy's computer."

"The calculator," I call from the kitchen. "It's on my desk and she can play with it."

"She can say calculator?" He looks quizzically at the baby, who is now lying under the kitchen table, happily shouting out numbers and jabbing at buttons.

"Wok chews," she shouts.

"You can't go down the stairs," my husband is referring to the steps on the front porch. "It's too cold outside."

"The shoes, walk shoes," I don't even look up from the coupons I'm clipping. "She wants to put on your shoes and walk in them." I soon hear the unique sound of a size 6 foot in a men's size 9 shoe making it's way through the den. If we had not made the den off limits, she'd never want to go in there.

Early the other morning, long before the moonlight faded and the sunrise hinted at its arrival, a tiny voice came over the nursery monitor, "Momma!"

"She's calling you," my darling murmured as he pulled the covers tighter around him.