Talk to Me

Jude has been labeled a "late talker." He's a very quiet kid who rarely babbles or cries. He's content to play and really doesn't fuss over much. I partly credit this to his calm personality and the other part to having a mother who anticipates his every need when she sees a specific gesture or certain facial expression. He hasn't had to talk much because I know him so well.

Speech is a tricky thing. I cannot make him talk like I could help him crawl or sit up.  We have been working with speech therapy for over six months. We have had his ears checked. We have signed until our hands cramp. We refused to use sippy cups and ditched the binky a year ago. We read to him at least two hours a day. We have narrated every detail of our lives every day in hopes that Jude will pick up on words we use.

So far, he will sign "all done" and says two words: dada and Hanky (the dog). I have tried not to let the fact that he doesn't say "momma" bother me. It's not like I spend every day with him or rotted for weeks on bed rest to save his life or gave birth to him. Too dramatic, I know. I just yearn to hear him call for me. For him to know my name and how much that title means to me. I've wanted to be called momma for a long time.

The speech therapist says that kids Jude's age sometimes have a hard time differentiating their primary care giver from themselves. I'm with Jude every day and in his little mind, we're pretty much the same person. Basically, I'm an extension of him.  I don't know if it's true, but it made me feel better. I guess I just need to embrace the idea that in his mind, we are very close. He may not call me momma just yet, but I can be a patient co-pilot for one of the sweetest boys out there.