I don’t talk to the kids on the phone that often. Generally there they are. Right next to me. But when I was in Toronto last week, I spoke with both of them daily. Boo sounds so much younger than going-on-7. Cute and perky and really young.
Talking to Nea was difficult. I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t realize how much I depend on her gestures and context to help. Context is everything. “Yellow but” is either “yellow school bus” or “yellow karate belt”, but usually it’s less clear than that. “Stop” is either “stop” or “camp.” I mean, the substitutions are endless. But if I’ve spent the day with her, I generally know what she’s talking about, in general. Usually. You know. Generally. Mostly.
She had her 5-year checkup yesterday. I love our doctor. He’s always been really great about referrals or anything else we need. They had this exchange:
Dr. Dave: So, Nea, where do you like to go?
DD: And what do you like to do there?
Nea: Peel. (aka, spiel, German for “play”)
DD: (pause) And are you good at that?
Dealing with the apraxia always hits me the hardest around Nea’s birthday. Soon I'll be the mother of a 5 year old who can barely talk. It didn't sound as bad at 2. Or 3. Or 4. But 5? Yeah, that doesn't seem ... right.
Midnight. Not a sound from the pavement.
2 days ago