Last week, Sophie started calling Ray and me “Daddy-o” and “Mommy-o”.

I have no idea where that came from, but it’ll be appropriate, I suppose, at Annabelle’s bowling-themed birthday party Sunday.

(I’m bummed — I wanted to put “We Had a Bowl” on the goody bag tags, but realized in the nick of time that, um, that won’t quite work. Mom, I’ll explain later.

But thanks to my sister, I do think I’ve solved the conundrum over how to decorate the cupcakes with “tiny edible bowling balls,” Annabelle’s request. More on that later.)

Anyhow, the whole “Daddy-o” and “Mommy-o” schtick got so many laughs that Sophie’s tried it out on just about everyone she’s encountered in the past few days: Megan-o, Annabelle-o, Gaga-o, Grandma-o. I’ve gotten some mileage out of telling the story around the office.

I just told a co-worker about it. After she chuckled over what she dubbed “the comedic stylings of Sophie,” I said, “Hey, that went over so well I’ll have to blog about it!”

She looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I need to read your blog! I still haven’t!”

I assured her that it’s best to skip it, as I’m quickly realizing this whole blog thing is putting a damper on live conversation. In the past week, at least three people have said, “Uh, yeah, I know. I read that,” when I’ve tried to share some life detail.

It’s a brave new bungle, this whole blog thing.