For the first bunch of years, I introduced my babies to new words. 

"This is a ball!"

Eventually he or she mimicked me, and the idea stuck. I remember Micah sitting in the back of the van, when he was two, looking out the window. We lived in Albuquerque, and it was prime weather for hot air balloons. 
 

"Ball! Ball! Ball!" he shouted. I doubted that there was anything round in the road, but I looked where he pointed. Indeed, the sky was polka-dotted with bright balloons,

Somewhere along the way, my kids began to outword me. Lukas, is conversant with wires and circuits. Chara understands design elements. Micah will soon be teaching younger pilots about, well, stuff. 

In a fascinating conversation that mostly happened while I was asleep, they discussed the definition of a word. Hope, the one studying linguistics, taught me the word polysemantics. Which is a fancy way to parse your locution.  "Get" is a card-carrying member of the polysemy club. 

"I get that you will get annoyed if I get more dessert."

Our grandson is learning language, both spoken and using signs. The stand bys of Mama and Dad are part of his repertoire, as well as the unpredictable fushcia. 

I marvel at this. We are deeply wired to connect with one another, and something inside this boy pulls him toward expressing himself. And his mother is waiting eagerly to hear what he has to say.