Everywhere we go people stop us to remark on the Dictators speech skills. She's been talking since she was 11 months old. I don't mean she would babble a few words that only I would understand. I mean she's been using real words in the correct context since 11 months old. At 15 months old she spoke around 200 words. By 18 months she spoke in sentences. I honestly can hardly remember a time before she was talking. To me, it seems that we have always been able to communicate through language of some form, even since birth.
So many of our friends lament about their children's own speech, wishing they spoke as well as the Dictator does. My friends.....listen closely to me......enjoy the silence. Enjoy it for as long as you have it. Once it ends, you will miss it more than you miss your 20 year old rear end.
The Dictator wakes up talking. Usually she's also poking my eyelids at the same time. Every day in our house starts the same way-
The Dictator: "Momma, the sun is up!"
Me: "Gosh darn the sun (remember, I am on a swearing strike! Must.Not.Swear. Must keep daughter in school to keep my own sanity.) I'm not quite ready to get up yet."
The Dictator: "Momma! The sun is uuuuuuuuuuuup! You need to be up too!"
I'm not sure why I fight it anymore. I always lose. It's like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun and expecting things to work out in your favor.
At this point in the conversation I usually roll over, and attempt to ignore the Dictator. That never works. Who can ignore a 25 pound octopus on your head? Fine. I'm up.
The Dictator: "Good job, Momma!"
At this point I hate my life. I hate the sun. I hate myself for not investing in black out curtains for every square inch of wall space and windows we have. I want to die. I want coffee. I want coffee first and then I want to die.
I now need to use the restroom. I know there's not a chance in heck (again, no swearing! I'm fitting in better and better with my Hobby Lobby visiting, bake sale-ing, church-going neighbors by the second!) I'm going to get to go alone. Here comes the Dictator!
The Dictator: "Momma, do you need to pee or poop? Do you want me to hold your hand? Do you need toilet paper? Do you need water? Do you want to flush or should I? Can I see it? Can I touch it? I need to go too! NOOOOO! I don't really need to go! The toilet will flush me! Can a toilet flush you? Can you actually flush down the toilet and into the ocean like in Nemo? What ocean does Nemo live in? My teacher says there are different oceans. Does Nemo know that? We should tell him. I need to go to Disney World and tell him. I'm hungry. I want cereal. Ummm...I do need to go potty. I need to take a dump. Ooops...I mean I need to poop, please."
Me: "Coffee......I need coffee......."
The Dictator: "I'll make it! Do you want black coffee or sugar coffee? Can I have coffee? I want it in the purple cup! I want the butterfly purple cup! I want sugar coffee today. I want whip cream on top! I don't want to eat breakfast, I just want coffee! Lets make coffee!"
I say nothing. I stumble to the coffee pot. I get cups. I get the butterfly purple cup. That's a losing battle. Let the kid have coffee. We have decaf. At least she can't talk while she's drinking. We make coffee.
The Dictator: "I LOVE coffee! I want to have coffee again tomorrow. Don't you just love coffee? Does Nemo drink coffee? I bet he does. I bet the Fresh Beat Band drinks coffee too. So they have energy to go on stage and sing songs. Wow! I love Fresh Beat Band songs! Don't you? Ahhh....... Get the beat...Fresh Beat Band!"
Keep in mind that this has all happened in approximately 10 minutes. Maybe 15. I try to move quickly from the bed to the coffee pot.
Now imagine that this continues All.Day.Long.
It seems cute, and fun, and awesome. Until you have a 3 foot tall barnacle attached to your leg that questions your every move. Why are you wearing those shoes today? You never wear those shoes? What IS that stuff on my sandwich? I don't like broccoli. I want lettuce. Now. Where are my shoooooooooooes? Heeeeelp! I can't find my shooooooes! Ahhhhhhh!
It's like having a talking tumor. There's no getting away from it. It follows you. It's part of you. It stares at you and questions your logic in everything you do. Every single little thing you do.
Yes, there are many merits to having an amazingly linguistic 2.5 year old. I can reason with her. I can give her complicated instructions and she follows them. I can give her consequences. She can tell me her likes, dislikes and notify me if someone has treated her poorly when she is not in my presence. We can plan our days together and she has a voice, a true voice, in the decisions we make as a family. I am amazed daily by my daughters poignancy.
I am also, however, exhausted by the end of the day.
I fantasize that I will lose my hearing just for a day. A day of silence. Sorry! I can't hear you!! Wish I could! Try again tomorrow! Ahhh.......
For all my friends with newborns and young toddlers. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy going about your business without getting the third degree. Soon your children will be talking. And talking. And talking. Remember, I warned you. I told you so!!
