Copycat. Copycat.

A few weeks ago, I was eating lunch at the counter while Mason played on the floor across the room. I was watching him while I ate, and I started to laugh at something funny he was doing when, all of a sudden, a piece of cheese went down the wrong way and I started to choke. It was the scary kind of choking, the kind where you break out in an instant sweat and you're pretty sure you're just going to die right there. Believe me when I say that this was not the way I wanted to die: standing in the kitchen with my unwashed hair, sweatpants, and that stupid turkey sandwich.

Clearly I recovered, as I am still alive to tell the tale today. As I gasped for breath, coughed, and guzzled some water, I heard noises from where Mason was playing.

That little bugger was pretending to cough. He was mocking me!

I coughed a few fake coughs and sure enough he repeated me every time, making cute little coughing noises with his mouth wide open and his tongue sticking out. Now, he's doing it when George coughs, too. He thinks it's the funniest thing in the world. He'll hear you, too, if you cough on the other side of the apartment. Or in the bathroom with the door shut.

It doesn't stop with coughing, either. Yesterday, Mase and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: Eeee
Mason: Eeee
Me: Ooooh
Mason: Ooooh
Me: Ahhh
Mason: Ahhh
Me: Mama
Mason: [whispered] Dadadadada!

What a bugger.