kiwords

Raphael is my most verbal child. I don’t remember EXACTLY, but I’m pretty sure that within moments of birth he started looking around and mused, “So this is the world huh? Bright. Listen, could I get some boob over here? Huh? What’s a baby gotta do?”

Ok, maybe he didn’t talk quite that soon. But he was born with a tendency to babble, enjoying the liquid syllables falling out of his mouth. Soon enough these sounds morphed into actual language. And since then, baby, there’s been no stopping him.

He comments on the weather, he catalogues the members of the family (animals included), he recounts moments of daring action that occurred in his day (real or imagined), he retells scenes from movies he particularly enjoys.

He. Never. Shuts. Up.

The other day we were in a coffee shop. There was a woman there with a tiny floppy newborn. Raphael studied him, all squishy faced in his car seat, for a moment, then turned to me and said,

“I remember when I was a baby. I was soooo tiny. And I didn’t have any powers. That baby is drinking from a bottle. I don’t have a bottle. Can I have a bottle?”

And so on.

Now, I’ve grown accustomed to the endless torrent of words. They wash over me, and I know as long as I’m nodding and mmm-hmmm-ing occasionally and (oh dear me no) NOT talking to someone else, he’s perfectly happy to prattle on. It’s like a conversation, except he gets to do all the talking, which suits him fine.

The problem arises when Raphi decides he will now talk, but he doesn’t have anything to say.

“MAMA.” We were having dinner, and Raphael placed one hand on my arm. “MAMA. MAMA. Can I tell yoo somethin’?”

I looked at him, stifling a heavy sigh. If he’s ASKING if he can tell me something, he’s not requesting permission, he’s actually wondering.

“Sure, honey. What is it?”

“Mama. Can I tell yoo somethin’?”

“Yes. Please do.”
”Mama.” He sighed and looked all around the room for something to talk about. The pause stretched out long enough that I started to turn back to the story Mom was telling. My lack of attention caused Raphi to grip my arm tightly and holler, “BUT MAMA! I was TELLIN’ yoo SOMETHIN’! MAMA!” I looked back.

“Yes. What?”

He returned to searching the room.

“Mama? Mama. Mama.”

At this point I went entirely insane.

I’m beginning to suspect that the correct answer to “Can I tell yoo somethin’?” may very well be, “NO, APPARENTLY NOT.”