Finding His Voice

“Eeeeeeeee!” my sixteen-month-old squeals excitedly, his chubby hand clasped tightly while he points his index finger in the direction of the object of his fascination. His eyes are focused intently on the item of choice that he feels he so clearly has called by name. “Eeeeeeee!!!!!” he chides again, this time with great umph, a deep grunt behind it leaving the rest of the family in stitches (I’ve referred to it as a baby version of Tim the Toolman Taylor’s growl).  

“Eeeeeeeee” has meant a good deal of many things recently. In fact, the running joke in our home is whatever “eeeeeeeeee” is, we have a lot of it (at least, according to our youngest, Jonah). Over time it has been won over by actual words. Mama. Dada. Ball. Bye-bye. More. All done. And let’s not forget every toddler’s favorite word: no. With it has come a new sense of authority, autonomy, and power. Jonah is finding his voice. In a house of three rowdy little boys, he is also trying to find a way to express his own above the ruckus that comes with a full house. And yes, “eeeeeeee” is still the phrase of choice that implies “Hey, me over here! Yes, I have an opinion, too, and I’d like to share it!”

I know the days of “eeeeeeeee” are dwindling in our home, but seeing as they haven’t brought on any frustration from our youngest (as some do find when they can’t communicate what it is they want) I’m not in any hurry for them to end. For me, vocabulary is the definitive line in the sand that transitions a baby on to the next stage of toddlerhood. I was recently reminded of just how quickly the first year goes when I was in line behind a customer with a newborn so tiny and whose cries were so fresh, I began to wonder if she had come straight from labor and delivery to the store. Her little one began to fuss as she made her purchase but instead of a robust scream like I’m used to with my own (not so) little one, a dry, throaty wave of mouse-like whimpering began. The sound was foreign to me; in just a year’s time, my own once-newborn’s cries had been tucked deep into a pocket of my memory, long forgotten. While the moment made me sentimental, it also brought a wave of comfort. For how darling newborns can be, their shrill cries can be exhausting, even nerve-wracking, for a parent wondering how to console them. I much prefer a chubby one-year-old’s game of “guess what I’m pointing at and calling eeeeeeee” to the endless sobs of a tiny infant that could mean anything from “I’m hungry” to “I don’t feel so good”, to “Well, there’s nothing better to do so I might as well cry!” It was yet another reminder that no matter the season, good or bad, it is just that… a season that will fleetingly pass.

Yes, time may be passing quickly, but if I have any question as to what Jonah thinks he is- little boy or baby- I need only ask. “Baby!” he will cheer emphatically while pointing to any one of his peers within our church’s nursery. Every child from newborn to pre-schooler in his eyes is a baby. Infant? It’s a baby. Toddler? It’s a baby. Four year old? You guess it: it’s a baby.

“Are you a baby?” I ask him. He nods, a drooly smile firmly planted on his face, arms outstretched longing to be cuddled. No words are needed to know a child wants to be held. Mother’s intuition kicks in for what words are lacking. He may be finding his voice, but there are still some things that require no words.