the curse of mini-me

There is an old Irish curse that parents give their children that wishes upon them a child worse than themselves. I am the lucky recipiant of that Irish Curse. My eldest son is a mini-me. He also suffers from logorrhea. I learned this word in the movie "Akeelah and the Bee". Before that I just said he had diarhea of the mouth. (this word sounds much better) Logorrhea is the pathologically excessive (and often incoherent) talking of any said person. In this case, it is my son. Now, I am owning up to the fact that this trait is from me, at least from my youth. I used to drive my Grandfather crazy. We lived next door and I would follow him around... talking and talking and talking. He one day asked my Mom why she had me vacinated with a phonograph needle. I should have seen this coming when Drake started talking at such an early age. He started at nine months and has not stopped since. He even talks in his sleep! I cannot count the number of times I hear "Mom, can I ask you a question?" or "Mom, did you know...?" and my favorite "Mom, I'm hungry". This last statement is voiced every 15-20 minutes, I kid you not. This becomes quickly tiresome and I often long for just a few minutes of piece and quiet. (he has interrupted me twice as I am trying to type this!!) There have been many a times in desparation I have said "For the love of Pete, stop the incessant chatter!!!" The sad thing is he knows what that means :( But you gotta love this winking "Right at ya Mom!" picture.