Is that a little vacuum?

For the longest time Jack was in a “resting” period before active with language. We rarely employee baby talk—with the exceptions of owie for a cut or scrape and coldie, something I picked up from living in community in Chicago. We always said it was coldie, maybe to soften the winter blasts, the wind blowing off the lake that turned a summer day into parka weather. Coldie didn’t sound as bad.

At library toddler storytime there were the children that sat in their caregiver’s laps, quietly listening, while Jack ran around in the background. Or the little girls with complete vocabularies interacting with the story. I doubted Jack recognized there was a story let alone that any of us existed. He was the center of his own orbit, interrupted by having to put on shoes, time to eat, etc.

It was my Swiss friend Monica, a professional speech pathologist working with special needs non-verbal children, who used the word resting when I referred to Jack not really speaking. I knew he had a lexicon of words inside of him. He understood everything we said. He just would rather lead us to the cupboard where snacks were then ask for them. Or hand us the remote for TV time. We’d encourage him, but I thought it would all eventually work itself out. Then a lady at circle time at the library asked me: What does he call you? Meaning grandma, nanna, meemaw (ughhh), hey you? Nothing, I replied. He doesn’t call us anything. He rarely said Mom or Dad or refer to himself. Especially not grandma.

So the question troubled me—was there something wrong?

He turned 3 at the end of December. He’d been in nursery school for three months. We invited the neighbor children all younger than Jack to a party. Of course they were all talk-talking. As was Jack, just whenever he felt like it. But, then, the flood gates opened.

Suddenly he could tell me everything on his mind. It wall all in there, resting. I have a Dirt Devil to pick up crumbs and the lady bugs always getting into the house. Is that a little vacuum? he asked. Mom was leaning over, changing the baby, her back to Jack, Is that your butt, Mama? He begs to go to Grandpa and Grandma Garvey’s house or their beach or ride their four-wheeler. He calls me Grandma and playfully says, hey you! to me. He plays with rhyme and word sounds. He gets nuance and giggles about stupid stuff. We can now ask him about school and he’ll tell us—if he feels like it. He likes to “write” his name or spell it.

His “new” thing is prefixing a request as if it were vital by using REALLY. Such as I really, really need a snack. Or I really, really want my dinosaur paint book. Sometimes I’ll respond that I really, really need him to be patient.

NEXT installment, a big boy bed