The language journey begins when our kids are still in utero. We sing to them, speak to scream at them, put our earbuds against the womb so they can hear Beethoven, the Beatles, and Beyonce, and beat ourselves up when we don’t do any of the aforementioned frequently enough. Because, if you don’t do this for at least 36 minutes a day, your child will never learn to speak. (At least that’s what the internet says, and the internet is always right.)
These same activities continue when they are an infant, except now we don’t have to scream through the womb, we can talk normal. We read to them, describe the world using the most descriptive language we never knew we had, and introduce them to our favorite nursery rhymes and bedtime stories. We describe even the simplest of actions, repeat things over and over, and ask questions, not expecting answers.
Soon, they can start communicating in something other than banshee level screaming. Moans are more than just noise. Facial expressions convey moods. And before you know it, they are pointing…at everything…so really nothing.
All kids develop language at different speeds (shit, all adults develop language at different speeds), but any parent would be lying if they didn’t wonder at one time or another whether their child was speaking enough. I know we did, and our kid wasn’t even 18 months old.
I knew it would come, Mrs. FWL knew it would come, but I think more than anything, we were just anxious. Rudimentary grunts and babbles are cool for a little bit, but they get old really fast. We repeat the same thing ad nausea, hoping they’ll figure it out. Sounds they have been making for months, that you know are word placeholders, take forever to form.
The crazy thing in all of this, is that they understand everything! Ask them to put something away, and assuming they aren’t being a defiant asshole, they will do it. Ask them to retrieve a book, and they’ll toddle over to the shelf and pick out your least favorite. Pretty soon, repeating stuff actually starts paying dividends, and they understand that, “Let’s change your diaper,” means to walk their little butt to their room so we don’t have to carry them.
And then, when you least expect it, they surprise you. Something that was merely a sound for so long, suddenly becomes a recognizable word in reference to a specific object. It’s as if a whole new world of possibility has opened up. A world where they repeat the same word, a million times, because they are so proud. A world where, the minute they wake up, they just ramble off all the words they know in rapid succession, as if them saying it, and you hearing it, will make something, anything happen. A world where, even after they’ve requested to be picked “Up”, and you’ve picked them up, they still repeat “Up” 27 more times.
Isabel is learning language, for the first time. Just wrap your head around that! She is finally verbalizing the words that we knew were in her head.
We like to ramble back with her when she busts out her robot noises, but both know that one day, probably much sooner than we realize, those robot noises will be full-blown sentences. Soon, “guah-guah” (aka wa-wa) won’t be used for all four-legged creatures with fur (minus cat, she knows that one), “shhhhh” will form “shoe,” and the repetition of “up” will stop when she is actually “up”. But until then, I will gladly take robot gibberish in place of certain words I’m afraid she already knows, and will probably blurt out at the most inappropriate time.
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