A few weeks ago in the car I said something and he replied: "Oh. I didn't weawize [realise] dat."
There's so much going on in his head - figuring out what dead means, and why some cars carry their spare tyres on the outside, and why babies need to get injections, to name a few from recent days. "Why?" is his reflex interjection these days, and every sentence you reply with can have why appended to the front and shot back at you again until you (that is, I) eventually crack and ask him to please stop asking why for a while.
Meanwhile, the little girl is becoming so much of a person, figuring out her own things like how sometimes I'm not right there beside her when she wakes up, and how to roll over, and how to hold something and look at it, and how much she loves her Daddy... she's the sweetest, happiest baby on the block, and boy does she have a set of lungs on her when she's not pleased - mostly every single time we get in the car, which she has decided she hates with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.