The ordinary observer might assume that the thoughts of Rainen Solomon, a burbling 17-month-old in powder-blue shorts, hew to basics, like "hungry" and "VERY hungry."

Derek Ogilvie, aka the Baby Mind Reader, is picking up more complicated signals.

"He's telling me he had a problem with his tummy around 2 1/2 months ago," Ogilvie says, jotting down notes on a pad and staring at the boy.

Ogilvie is sitting on the floor of an apartment on the Upper West Side in New York, where he has come to demonstrate what he modestly calls his gift: the ability to commune telepathically with young folk, specifically those from 1 to 3 years old.

A native of Scotland, Ogilvie is a minor phenomenon in England, where he was the star last year of a four-part TV series called "The Baby Mind Reader," and where he performs in theaters as a medium. He made his U.S. debut June 4 on the "Today" show.

Last week, he agreed to attempt a psychic connection in the homes of two families he'd never met. First up: Rainen, whose mother, Jenny, is eagerly awaiting the first-ever bulletin from inside her son's noggin. The problem is that little of the information Ogilvie is conveying makes sense to her.

"I don't remember anything with his tummy," she says, genuinely mystified.

"Do you not remember him touching his tummy here?" Ogilvie says, tapping his own stomach. He speaks with a heavy Scottish accent, turning "toe" into "too." "It was around the time he was having trouble lacing up his shoes."

Jenny thinks about that one. "He doesn't have any shoes with laces," she shrugs.

"Let me give you more information," Ogilvie replies, the first hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

It's a tricky business, this baby whispering. As Ogilvie explains, he gets images from inside the minds of kiddies, and he can't control the images he's sent. He says he has helped dozens of parents understand what is troubling their little ones: sleep issues, eating problems, you name it. But some tots are more "open" than others, and Rainen seems shut down. Or maybe he's a prankster.

"For some reason, he's showing me the stove ... the left burner on the stove," Ogilvie continues. "Is there something wrong with that part of the stove?"

"There's nothing wrong with the stove," Jenny says. "I'm so sorry."

She's disappointed, it turns out, because Rainen is lagging a bit, and has been attending physical and speech therapy five days a week. She was hoping Ogilvie could offer some insight into what, if anything, is impeding the lad.

This takes Ogilvie by surprise, which is a little surprising in itself: One of his more startling assertions is that all babies are psychic and that when he reads their minds, he is reading what they have picked up from the minds of their parents. This often includes memories of events that occurred before birth, because, as Ogilvie tells it, memory is one of the many nutrients that babies absorb in the womb.

Let's leave aside the medical dimension of this and assume for a moment that Ogilvie is right. You'd figure that if Jenny is wondering about Rainen's development, and the tyke were reading his mom's mind, he would pick up that anxiety and relay it to Ogilvie. Instead, Ogilvie offers minutiae about stoves, shoes and carpets.

"I'm at the mercy of the child," says Ogilvie. "What's relevant to them might not be relevant to you."

During visit No. 2, with Lily Reingold, 18 months, Ogilvie sits next to her mother, Anne. "She's telling me she's got a little bit of a throat infection," he says.

"Not that I know of," Anne says.