Before Words
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We live in a wordy world. At every moment of every day, we are bombarded with words. They come from people, from screens, from signs.
Believe me, I love words. So often, they are my magic and my medicine. In the quiet corners of my life, I am lost in words. Words that form stories, and hopes, and questions. And dreams.
One of my favorite parts of parenthood has been the ascent to language. Nothing has delighted me more than watching my girls gain words, and put them together. Every single day, I am amazed by something they say, by something they ask, by the way they are able to articulate something. Something silly or simple or profound or even brilliant. Brilliance – evident in the weaving of words – manifests more often than you’d think around here. This brilliance is for me a beacon through the gray and gritty glory that is being a mom.
But there is one creature in my world who has no words yet. She is ten weeks old. And she’s getting plump and perky. Her eyes are a dashing blue, a bragworthy hue, and those eyes say so much. But so does her voice. That’s right, even though she is in the land before words, she has a voice. A unique one, loud and lovely and lucid. There are times when she looks at me, pins me with those eyes, and she smiles and says something. It comes out as a coo, or sometimes a cry, but I hear her. And, somehow, I understand.
I know, I whisper to her. I hear you, little girl.
Because I do. Even though I don’t know exactly what flits through that little – or not-so-little – mind of hers, I hear her sounds, her soothing and startling sounds, and somehow I am awash in awareness. I find myself nodding. And loving. And celebrating. Even though I am really really tired and struggling more than I’m willing to admit. Even though. Her voice is a gorgeous and gripping reminder of who I am now and who I once was and where I am now and how ridiculously lucky I am.
Voice. As a writer, it’s of immense importance. As a person, it’s of critical meaning.
And as a parent? It’s something even more. Something more than I’m able to describe.
And so. Today, on this fine Monday in May, I’m here. Using words. Words I’ve collected. Words I’ve cobbled together in an imperfect effort.
To honor her and this, this brief but also brilliant time before words.
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Do you ever stop to think about how many words we encounter each day – in our minds and in our lives? As a person or parent, are you in awe of the power and prevalence of language? Do you too think there is something compelling about the pre-language voice of little ones?
I love these posts as it reminds me of that time before words. Once the words come, you forget that your children were wordless. I think I have forgotten a lot and your posts about the baby and the lack of sleep or lack of words bring me back. I love the way children use words and adore the creative spelling. My “baby” is on the verge of spelling correctly and I’m a little upset. I love to see how the words sound when you’re not fixated on the right way to spell them.
Today my 14-month-old daughter ran to the door (open to the lovely weather but gated) and shouted, “Dah!”, pointing to the afghan hound getting walked in the street, then started grunting her approximation of “Arf, Arf!” (which really is just a grunt). I think it startled both the dog and its walker, but the dog started prancing around, the walker gave us a big smile while trying to drag the dog home.
That’s about the extent of her language so far—dog, daddy, and “that,” which all sound alike, really; “yum”; and the occasional “thank you” (mostly identified by the number of syllables and its appropriateness after we hand her something she wants, but I feel like I should be proud). Yet, with those handful of words and a few hand signals—nothing nearly as developed as ASL, which I didn’t really bother trying to teach her—she still usually manages to make herself understood. And it is still obvious how much she really wants to have more words sometimes; there are many times a week when she will be trying to tell me something before dissolving into tears because I just don’t understand. Sometimes I join her because I really just don’t know what she thinks she needs. Not having the right words has frustrated me to tears on many occasions (oh, the nightmares of term papers due in six hours!).
But her voice is already very apparent and has been for months—personality that almost screams at you (sometimes literally). There are some times I swear I can hear Portia say when she cries, “Mom, you are ruining my life!” I fear for the future. And then she’ll run away, screaming and giggling, before running back to throw her arms around you. And really, I can’t think of a better way to express how you feel. Words aren’t necessary then.
I share your fascination with watching the evolution of verbal skills. IEP has understood everything that was said to him for more than a year. But it’s only been in the past three or four months that his own words have begun to increase in complexity and sophistication. In addition to it being really convenient (though we did get by really well with signs for a long time) it is a joy to see his sense of accomplishment when he successfully expresses himself. Interestingly, though, there is something about the cries and squeaks of a newborn that communicate every bit as much!
there is something spectacular about a baby’s capacity to communicate. so often i find myself wondering at the arbitrariness of our own language, listening to maxine chatter away in baby-speak with other babies. there is great comfort in the pre-language language–such pure emotion–and also in the grasping of words we can share.
this is a beautiful post, aidan. i’ve really been loving your post-baby words.
Before words and beyond words. Wordlessness. It’s deep. And there’s a Voice there. Mhm.
One of the things I love most in the world right now is watching my daughter figure things out. Where a word she has used all the time connects to what it MEANS! The way she’ll say “I LUW YOU” and hug or kiss me, like she gets what it means. It’s the most precious gift I’ve gotten because, like you, it makes me appreciate the words and how expressive they are. And also how sometimes she just can’t get her words together and she gets overwhelmed and she just snuggles and sighs. Sometimes that means more to me than any word she can ever utter.