Are You Talking to Me?

“Mom!” “Mom?” “Ma!” My preschooler hollered from the backseat the entire four-hour drive to Grandma’s. When I answered, “What, Honey?” it turned out he had nothing to say. I remember thinking, “Who taught this child to talk? And who told him my name??”

As a kid, I remember my mom’s exasperated claims that she would change her name and run away if we kept badgering her. Suddenly, I understood.

Fast forward five years to another trip to Grandma’s. This time, we have two children. My son is now 9 or 10; his sister is maybe 3 or 4. She complains, “Andwooz bodderin me!” My husband and I exchange a silent cheer for the accomplishment of this child who can argue with her brother. When she was born, we didn’t know if she would see, hear, walk, or speak. We certainly didn’t allow ourselves to wish for sibling rivalry in all its splendor. Now, she too talks so much that we sometimes wonder why we worried and when she’ll give us a moment of silence.

For both our kids, we rejoiced in their babbles, rhymes, and songs on the way to real communication. With our son, it was the wonderment of watching our first child’s personality and speech unfold. For our daughter, it was extra wonderment as some of our fears were put to rest.

We so longed for their first amazing words. Those first words eventually led to the annoying, pestering monologues of childish needs, imaginings, and demands. At times, our wonderment and joy became irritation and exasperation. How quickly a gift can become a burden in our minds when we are tired, stressed, or busy.

Fast forward again five years. Now our teen, at age 15, doesn’t want to talk to us. Again we long for words. Any words. Tell us your feelings, your imaginings, your desires. We linger on his every syllable just as we did on his every infant babble. Suddenly, the burden again becomes the greatest gift on our wish list.