The Power of Words

Communication. It's incredible how much we take for granted in our ability to organize thoughts and explain to each other exactly what it is that we want. To be able to do it well is an even greater gift. But to learn how to do it... well, many challenges lie in that exploration.

In the last few months as Popeye has began to show me with actions more and more of what he wants it has been an interesting exploration for us both. His frustration, for example, when I give him milk instead of water, is more then enough to make us both scream- particularly some days at 7am as I wait for my caffeine to perkilate.

But in the last few weeks he has suddenly grasped the beauty of articulation in two forms- the first via short signs that I have taught him based from ASL sign language. For example, he will use one finger to point to the inside of his palm on the opposite hand for cookie. Ironically enough, now that he has figured out exactly what cookie is that sign that sign reveals itself on a daily basis so much more then others.

The second way he is finding that he can express himself is through the joy of verbal exchange. The joy I felt when I first heard, "momma" roll off those pink lips- and even more so when he realized who exactly momma is. Okay, so I won't lie, he still signs cookie more then he says momma, but at least he says it. And as we continue to connect short signs with verbal sounds his frustrating ear ringing screams and slamming fists is ever so slightly diminishing as his demands (mostly for cookies) is expanding.

Last week as the lights in the apartment came on, and the light of the weak February sun faded, we went about our typical bedtime routine. Cuddled into fuzzy pajamas with slick white feet, Popeye romped about the living room, crawling through tunnels of well-designed couch cushion architecture. Stopping suddenly with great seriousness he pointed to his mouth. "Eat." Then with a smirk he signed, of all things, "cookie." I smiled back and suggested, "banana?" exhibiting with the ASL sign for banana. Popeye nodded his head in agreement as I retrieved his bright yellow treat from the kitchen.

We secured ourselves in a corner of the couch as I repeated, "banana." With great confidence and intrigue he responded, "Nana!" This having been the first time he identified the object verbally I clapped and cheered his success. For the next 20 minutes we continued with "nana!" as he gobbled his bedtime snack, played for a bit longer and then I began the bedtime story portion of our evening routine. It was a quiet night as he followed along and finally I laid him in his crib, wished him a goodnight, and turned out the light.

Typically he can put himself to sleep with no trouble; however, on a night when he feels he has had great success in learning and exhibiting a new skill there is often a fight. Fight may be too gentle of a word here... it is with the gnashing of teeth and blood curdling howls he will demand your recoil. Struggling, I usually fight my urge to rebound. It is my instinct to want to cuddle him to sleep- which has been typically a mistake unless I wish to spend 3 hours or more in that nursery chair- his hypersensitivity to my departure then heightened.

This evening I listen to the silence in his room for a few moments... one minute passes, two, three... Deciding that perhaps his playtime adventures may have exhausted him tonight, I retire to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of dinner spattered on the walls, the floor and considering his good aim that night- the fridge door. Scrubbing spinach off the wall I suddenly hear his small voice calling out. Except it isn't an angry cry or a cross bedtime appeal. I stand invisibly next to his door trying to make out what it is he is saying. Peeking in I can see him standing up, head cocked back as far as his neck will allow, one hand out stretched to the sky, he is groaning with frustration, "nanaaaa.... nana!!! Nanaaaaaa"

Is he crying out to banana's? As if making a decree to the god of the banana's to rescue him from this horrible crib fate for the night? Peeking around the shadow of his door I can see he is doing the ASL sign for banana as he continues to proclaim assistance from banana heavens. It didn't seem right to laugh considering he was quite displeased, but- to the bananas?

It's one of those stories you hope your mother doesn't tell your future soulmate over pasta in 27 years.