Another week, another milestone. Dylan has reached the parrot fashion stage. No, not sprouting beautiful plumage and looking well balanced on a perch, but mimicking absolutely everything anyone or voices on the television say.
The things he comes out with are really funny, particularly when he clearly doesn’t quite understand what he’s saying and repeats our words in a decidedly earnest tone. When I was worried about his initial reluctance to speak, other parents told me that it would be fine and that it would get to the point where I wished he’d be quiet. They were right on the first point, but I’m enjoying listening to him too much to relate to the second just yet.
Particular favourites include “We made it!” at the conclusion of doing anything, “Mummy, I’m crying” when he has been banished to the naughty corner for pushing Xander over – just in case we hadn’t heard the banshee-like wail – and The Very Hungry Caterpillar’s entire Saturday menu choice. Oh, and “Yay! Football on!” Good lad.
Apart from repeating words and phrases, whether he knows what he’s saying or simply delighting in trying out new sounds, his language comprehension is improving massively and we can now enjoy conversations with him. He has also taken to providing us with a running commentary of his life as well as some choice excerpts from his inner monologue.
It’s nice to know what he’s thinking. Even it’s surprise at seeing the number eight written somewhere or the intro to Peppa Pig complete with loud snorting.
For a while, we were worried that he had problems with his hearing. I did when I was his age and sounded like the Soup Dragon from Clangers until I had an operation to fix it. So I suppose it was natural to fret. Even once he started articulating things, it seemed that he wasn’t quite getting some sounds.
Things are much better now and he’s enunciating very well. ‘Milf’ has thankfully become ‘milk’. ‘Habbo’ has been replaced with ‘hello’ and ‘socks’ have become fye-fyes… well, nobody’s perfect. Plus, I seem to have gone from ‘Gay’ to ‘Gaggy’ to ‘Daddy’. Well, almost. He pronounces my name: Daaaaaaahddy. We think he may be Welsh.
Back to his hearing and he proved himself to have excellent ability on this front the other day. I was creeping past his room to the shower, aware that he was already half awake. I maintain that the unexpected noise that ensured he was fully awake was a creaky floorboard, but the little voice that came from my right begged to differ: “Naughty Daddy, you farted!” it exclaimed. Maybe I do wish he’d keep quiet now and then after all…