There was a time I worried about my young daughter’s development. Language skill was a particular worry. Is she stringing together two or three words to make sentences, or is she still only using one word and pointing?
I know I tended to worry too much.
She could say, “Mama,” “Dadda,” and “Wawil” (That was Cheryl, her big sister.) She could point to and say “dog.” Other one syllable words were used frequently: “Milk,” “nap,” “car,” etc. But they weren’t sentences.
There were two words used now and then: “Me go.” “Me come.” “Good bye.” “Mama come.”
Well, I thought, speech will come and I told myself not to worry so much. Life went on. It was spring and an opportunity to go outside and play and also increase our vocabulary.
Every day, however, getting outside became a problem. The back door leading to the back yard would sometimes swell and become stuck. It was a struggle to get the door opened. I’d yank and pull and rattle, until the door finally creaked open. One time during this tough struggle, the door gave up sooner than expected and flew open right smack in the baby’s face. She had an obvious egg on her forehead.
Well she certainly didn’t have the vocabulary to tell me exactly how badly she was hurt. She just screamed bloody murder. I thought she might have a concussion, so I took her to the pediatrician’s.
But at the doctor’s my one syllabic daughter had no trouble relating what had happened to her. Dr. Robb asked, “Where did you get that boo boo?”
Sadly, she very distinctly said, “from the damn door.”
I wonder where she learned that.