Baby Talk

My roommate and his boyfriend have started using baby talk.

“I have been a bawd bowy. Are you gowing to spawnk mee?”

This was said on the phone as he was walking by my bedroom door, so I didn’t catch the other end of the conversation, but I imagine that was in baby talk, too.

They have been dating for a year now, and once having passed that milestone, their relationship has quickly progressed to the next level. Which includes shopping for condos, and talking to each other this way.

First came the dating phase. Getting all decked out for a night on the town. Meeting each other’s friends. Weekend getaways to Palm Springs (apparently a prerequisite for all male gay couples in Los Angeles.) Romantic red roses left on the windshield at six in the morning, to be discovered on the way to work. Just a reminder that I love you.

Next came the staying in phase. Long weekends spent in the bedroom, interrupted only by padding out to the kitchen in boxer briefs and sweat shirts. Bare legs. Bare feet. Fixing brunch to take back into the room and eat on the bed. Picnic style.

Then came the dress alike period. Which I have to say really is adorable. At least for these two. There is a certain pleasure I take in seeing them head out the door on their matching bicycles, in their matching black spandex and backpacks, wearing matching knit caps on their heads and matching neon sneakers on their feet. They are ridiculously cute.

For their one year anniversary, they planned a big vacation in San Francisco. My roommate took a few days off from work, and they spent a lot of time organizing everything. Buying new luggage. Booking a romantic Airbnb. (I have to confess I had to look up the spelling for that. My first attempt was to use caps for the BNB, and to leave the “a” lower case. It looked more on-line-y that way…) Their instagram accounts were flooded with lovey dovey selfies of the two of them at a farmer’s market. At a sidewalk cafe. Sharing an umbrella in the rain. Cue the top 40 love song to be played under the montage.

Their anniversary was nestled between Valentine’s day and the boyfriend’s birthday, so there has been much celebrating over the past few weeks. So much romance, and the boyfriend is good at it. He’s really good at it. We’re talking sweep you off your feet good at romance.

My roommate has had to hustle to keep up. He’s normally the kind of guy who forgets that this Sunday is Easter. Maybe he should have bought his little nephews some chocolate? Or that Christmas is in five days, and there he is without any wrapping paper after the stores have closed, trying to figure out how to wrap the present he had shipped overnight on amazon at the last minute. So he hides the present and winds up giving it a week late. Mother’s Day sneaks up on him before he thinks that perhaps he should send flowers, and by then it is almost impossible.

For him to keep up with his handsome boyfriend, he’s had to undergo some changes in how he operates, and it’s encouraging to see that people really can change. If they are motivated by a strong enough romantic beau who will shame them into changing.

“Look, babe, I booked us a table for twelve for your friends from the office at the restaurant you love because it has those twinkle lights on the patio and serves the same french toast with blueberry compote that we had in wine country last Fourth of July…”

Transformation complete, they are deep into mutual romantic excess, and it is extremely sweet.

The baby talk should have been expected. A natural progression. However, I really didn’t see it coming.

“I just cawled yoo to say dank yoow!”

My roommate had gotten the sniffles and so his boyfriend rushed over to stock the fridge with power juices and chicken soup, before he got home from work.

The caring, thoughtful part is endearing, and there can be no doubt that he is madly in love with my roommate. It’s the baby talk part that is so remarkable. Coming from my roommate. Baby talk.

“Okay, bye. I wuv yoo toow!”

Yeah, see, I’ve never done that. There was one guy I dated for about four years. He was straight. (It’s a long story.) We had an arsenal of inside jokes, and we would speak to each other in different accents. Russian guy was my favorite. Not sure how that started, but we would adopt a hokey, over-the-top Russian accent every now and then. Or there was the grumpy old man shouting, “Get off my lawn!” Or Captain Picard. This pal would leave me voice messages as Patrick Stewart.

We had a lot of fun together, but never dressed alike, nor spoke in baby talk. It just didn’t occur to us. Neither.

I’m not sure what compels couples to start doing that one year into the relationship, but I do find it fascinating to watch this one particular romance unfold. The different levels are intriguing, and they are both so adorable together that it really isn’t as cavity inducing as it may sound.

I wonder what will come next?



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