It cut me to the quick a few months ago when I realised what my son Daniel's first word was. The sound was ambiguous at the start and for a while I clung to the belief that he was saying something else. But it was always directed at me and always when I was going out the door. Then he added actions - a little wave of the hand - and further denial was useless. He was definitely saying: "Bye!"
This is the sort of thing that makes a man wonder if he's spending enough time with his children. You don't even have to be physically absent for the issue to arise. A friend of mine had a similar crisis of conscience recently when his seven-year-old son, asked by a teacher what his father did, said: "He reads the paper." But Daniel's first word had an added sting because it was never accompanied by any hint of regret that I was leaving.
I gave him plenty of chances, God knows. Every time he said "Bye!", I would stop at the door and say "Bye!" back. Then he would wave and say "Bye!" again. And again I would wave and say "Bye!" to him. And so on for several minutes (it's what parents and babies do). But I would always search his features in vain for any sign of grief at my departure.
This was understandable enough because, often as not, I was only going to the bathroom. The really annoying thing was the contrast with his reaction when his mother left the room. Daniel never said "Bye!" to her, because he would be so consumed with anxiety he couldn't speak. If she was going out somewhere and I had to amuse him to cover her retreat, he would humiliate me by staring after her like a lovesick teenager. "Pull yourself together - you're nearly 15 months old," I used to tell him. But it was no use.
He's a mature 21-month-old now and his language skills are more sophisticated. Whereas "Bye!" used to be a reaction to the event of someone leaving, for example, he now sometimes uses it as a gambit, to influence events. The other day, I tried to stop him playing with the kitchen tap. And although I wasn't going anywhere, he waved at me and said "Bye!", clearly hoping this would make me go away.
However worrying Daniel's choice was, it is straight from the textbook for a child's first word to begin with "B". According to the experts, baby-talk starts with "lip" sounds - typically the letters B, P, and M. Then it progresses to sounds that use the tongue - D, N, and T.
It is, of course, wrong for parents to compete for their children's affections. But we should note in passing, therefore, that there is a purely scientific reason why a baby is more likely to say "Mama" before "Dada". It's nothing for mothers to crow about.
Naturally, babies learn to speak from being spoken to, and the language we use to teach them - "Motherese" - is a fascinating subject in its own right. In fact, the term "Motherese" has become politically incorrect, because it is so culturally loaded. It is a left-over from imperial times, when mothers ruled the world thanks to their strangle-hold on cradle-rocking.
These days, cradle duties are often devolved to others, and the empire is in decline. If you're a stay-at-home father, being asked to speak "Motherese" is a bit like being Irish and having to press the union jack on an ATM machine when you want instructions in English. So the new, gender-neutral term is Child Directed Speech (CDS).
Whatever you call it, this is a remarkable language. Its origins are lost in pre-history, and its rules are the same in all cultures. There are no classes in it, but you don't need classes because you're already
fluent, whether you know it or not. All it takes is proximity to a baby and suddenly CDS pours out of you.
The rules are fairly simple, admittedly. You address the baby in a high-pitched voice, with intonation rising to the end of each sentence. Sentences should be short, three to five words ideally, and should be accompanied by exaggerated facial expressions. You should engage in frequent repetition of phrases. And mispronouncing certain words (using "w" instead of "r", for example, or saying "ickle" instead of "little") is also essential.
Here's a fairly typical example I came across recently: "Ickle angel pet, wiv his gweat big soulful eyes and his ickle black nosie". In case you think I'm exaggerating, that's a quote from George Orwell's Keep the Aspidistra Flying. And OK, it was addressed to a dog - hence the bit about the black nose. But the rules for talking to puppies and small children are more or less the same.
The miracle of language is that, exposed to people talking to them like village idiots, most babies still somehow learn to speak.
First in single words. Then two-word sentences. Then three, until suddenly all the bits come together. Almost before you know it, your child is able to say things like "I want ice cream and I want it now!" while lying on the floor of a shop and beating the ground with his fists.
This is a proud moment for all parents.