People warned me that once I had children things would change.
They told me all about sleepless nights and endless diaper
changes.
People warned me that once I had children things would change. They told me all about sleepless nights and endless diaper changes. They also filled me in on pacifiers, the difference between teething and ear infections, and how nothing in my life, or on my body, would ever be the same again. But no one dared to tell me the whole truth of it – that having children would affect my vocabulary.
Back in college I used to be able discuss important world issues in both a coherent and sophisticated manner. But now, after eight years of raising two children, I hear myself saying things like, ”You come now here.”
And it’s not just me.
One day when we were visiting my relatives, my sister-in-law Donna, who has a master’s degree in psychology, called out to her children, ”Eat now stop play you!” And I understood exactly what she meant.
But what’s funny is that how automatic this new way of speaking is. One day, it seems, you’re an articulate, childless person with a corner office and a window, and the next day you find yourself in a park surrounded by children, muttering things that no one has ever heard spoken before in the English language.
I remember talking to one childless person several years ago, after staying up all night with a teething toddler. Our conversation went something like:
Her: Do you think the change of political party in the White House will affect the balance of the national economy, and possibly wipe out social security as we know it?
Me: Nah.
Her: And don’t you agree that what the government needs to do is put regulations on risky investments to prevent the inevitable turn of the stock market from wiping out millions of short term investors?
Me: Yeyawh, fop nitty noop.
Suddenly I was met with the kind of stare usually reserved for naked people running through the street. But, honestly, what I really meant to say was, ”Exactly, as long as restrictions don’t cause upheaval in the world market and upset the balance of the national economy.” And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that if she were a parent she would’ve known this.
Of course, I occasionally have good moments when I have the mental energy to string two complete thoughts together into a whole sentence and I feel positively glib. But those moments never last and I inevitably fall back to my old inarticulate ways.
So you can’t blame me for seeking out people who I can relate to. In fact the other day I was startled when a well-dressed woman standing in front of me at the grocery store said to the clerk, ”How much is that blue thingy-ma-bob hanging next to the wood what-cha-ma-call-it?” and I immediately felt at ease because I knew I was in the company of a fellow mother.
Oh, I know that having such a limited vocabulary has some drawbacks, but it can be quite useful. For instance, since you no longer need to worry about irrelevant things like the English language, you’ll have more energy to spend chasing down your children and shoveling out your good silverware from the bottom of the sandbox. Plus, few people can argue with you because, mainly, no one can figure out what you’re talking about.
But, I must admit, deep down I’m worried about the kind of example I’m setting for my children. After all, I want them to grow up to be articulate, successful adults.
Then, the other day, my almost 9-year-old daughter put her arms around me and said, ”Ta for the jiggy necklace, Mom. You’re way phat.” She kissed me on the cheek and headed for her room. ”Peace out.”
All I could say was thanks and stare at her door in dumbfounded silence. I used to think my language skills would improve once I have teenagers. Now, I’m not so sure.
