It seems to me, sometimes, that we long for those non-talking days, no? I think that thought flashes through all parents' minds at times - like when your child is throwing a category 10 temper tantrum in the middle of Target. Of course, you take the wonderful with the challenging. That's part of our job.
There's the Fort Knox-like way they keep secrets:
*CL and Henry driving home from pre-school*
"Mommy, you going to like it. Oh! I was not supposed to say anything."
"I was not even supposed to say that."
"Is it a secret?" *CatholicLibrarian pictures adorably constructed Mother's Day gift, and smiles lovingly*
"YES. I not supposed to say anything... Want me to tell you?"
"No, Honey. I want it to be a surprise. I can't wait to see what you made."
"It's a tea pot."
Or, the interrogator-like questioning style that they develop rather quickly:
*at BJ's, ordering tires for my car*
"Mommy. Who's that guy?"
"That's the Michelin Man, Sweetheart."
"Who is he?"
"He's...huh. Well, I guess he's a mascot. For tires."
"Is he real?"
"Well, he's a mascot, Honey, so he's not really real."
"Is he a guy in a costume?"
"Who's inside the costume?"
"I don't know, Honey."
"You have to tell me."
"I'm not holding out on you, Sweetheart, I just really don't know."
"Is it Peter Parker?"
"No, Honey, the Michelin Man isn't a super hero, he's just a tire guy."
And suddenly, the thing that I dreaded from infanthood has come to pass:
"Hi Sweetheart, Mommy's home! Come give me a kiss!"
"What do you mean, no? Mommy needs a kiss." *eyes narrow*
*Hank backs away, slowly*
*I grab him and kiss his cheeks relentlessly*
Perhaps this is the reason for the reluctance.