Cute Baby Monday!
I think Andrew's been getting more verbal lately. This was some concern when we saw the pediatrician for his 2-year appointment last month. According to her, 2-year-olds are supposed to have a vocabulary of 50 words and be able to string some of them together in two-word sentences. Andrew's vocabulary is probably around 15, and I've only very, very rarely heard him string anything together that isn't a bunch of nonsense syllables, and the times he did, I'm pretty sure it was a fluke.
It's not a problem of comprehension. Trust me, this kid knows. I say dinner's ready, and he gets into his high chair. I say it's time for bedtime, he picks up his toys. (Mostly.) He gets into his bed when it's time for a nap, he brings me a book when he wants to read, he can pull down the Tupperware with Cleo's food, push it to the fridge, open up the doors, and go rummaging for juice. (I need a picture of this, but frankly, I'm usually too worried about the fate of the eggs to go looking for the camera.) He even knows what I mean by "Let's go run some errands", because he immediately heads downstairs to find his shoes and socks.
I suppose Andrew just feels no need to actually vocalize any of this. Recently, though, he's getting better about saying somewhat identifiable words. "Down", "high chair", "juice", "Go go go", and "Blue" (the cartoon dog, not the color) have joined "Mama", "Daddy", and "Cleo". ("Daddy", incidentally, has mostly replaced "Dada" in reference to Bill. "Dada" is still everything that is good and right in the universe.) So I've got some hope that come January, when we put in for Andrew's medical clearance again, the pediatrician won't hesitate to fill out her end of the paperwork positively.
This is, of course, compounded by the eternal issue of comparison. Of the kids in Andrew's age group, I know of exactly two who have the 50 words-2-word-sentence-string that the pediatrician laid out. Two. And one of them is a girl (which really does matter at this stage, apparently). No one else's kids have that minimum, and every other pediatrician has raised the subject. Worse - the pediatricians told the moms to see language specialists, and the moms who followed these instructions were then told by the language specialists, "No, they're fine, don't worry, and we don't have time to see your kids anyway." Which makes me think that somewhere along the line, this 50-word-2-word-sentence-string minimum has gotten blown way out of proportion.
(I've got half a mind to see a language therapist anyway, preemptively, so that if the pediatrician does try to give us trouble, I can say, "Look! Being proactive! And she says Andrew's fine!")
I would be more worried if Andrew was the only quiet kid I knew. Frankly, I think half the reason he doesn't vocalize more is because I'm the only adult he sees every single day. Heck, a lot of the times, I'm the only adult I see every single day, and I'm sorry, but there's only so many hours in the day where I'm willing to talk out loud with no response. I get tired of my own voice after about half an hour. (No, really. Try talking your way through the day when no one is talking back to you. You start to feel really stupid after about 5 minutes, and possibly insane after 15.)
Sorry...that turned more ranty than intended, considering that in the end, I do think he's talking more. Not the 50-word-vocabulary, certainly, but more. Which is good. We'll see what the pediatrician thinks.
Anyway, enough about that. Andrew continues to be obsessed with trains. And since we were stuck inside for the last half of the week, that's pretty much all I have to show for it.
"Look, Ma! I can pose!"
It's not a problem of comprehension. Trust me, this kid knows. I say dinner's ready, and he gets into his high chair. I say it's time for bedtime, he picks up his toys. (Mostly.) He gets into his bed when it's time for a nap, he brings me a book when he wants to read, he can pull down the Tupperware with Cleo's food, push it to the fridge, open up the doors, and go rummaging for juice. (I need a picture of this, but frankly, I'm usually too worried about the fate of the eggs to go looking for the camera.) He even knows what I mean by "Let's go run some errands", because he immediately heads downstairs to find his shoes and socks.
I suppose Andrew just feels no need to actually vocalize any of this. Recently, though, he's getting better about saying somewhat identifiable words. "Down", "high chair", "juice", "Go go go", and "Blue" (the cartoon dog, not the color) have joined "Mama", "Daddy", and "Cleo". ("Daddy", incidentally, has mostly replaced "Dada" in reference to Bill. "Dada" is still everything that is good and right in the universe.) So I've got some hope that come January, when we put in for Andrew's medical clearance again, the pediatrician won't hesitate to fill out her end of the paperwork positively.
This is, of course, compounded by the eternal issue of comparison. Of the kids in Andrew's age group, I know of exactly two who have the 50 words-2-word-sentence-string that the pediatrician laid out. Two. And one of them is a girl (which really does matter at this stage, apparently). No one else's kids have that minimum, and every other pediatrician has raised the subject. Worse - the pediatricians told the moms to see language specialists, and the moms who followed these instructions were then told by the language specialists, "No, they're fine, don't worry, and we don't have time to see your kids anyway." Which makes me think that somewhere along the line, this 50-word-2-word-sentence-string minimum has gotten blown way out of proportion.
(I've got half a mind to see a language therapist anyway, preemptively, so that if the pediatrician does try to give us trouble, I can say, "Look! Being proactive! And she says Andrew's fine!")
I would be more worried if Andrew was the only quiet kid I knew. Frankly, I think half the reason he doesn't vocalize more is because I'm the only adult he sees every single day. Heck, a lot of the times, I'm the only adult I see every single day, and I'm sorry, but there's only so many hours in the day where I'm willing to talk out loud with no response. I get tired of my own voice after about half an hour. (No, really. Try talking your way through the day when no one is talking back to you. You start to feel really stupid after about 5 minutes, and possibly insane after 15.)
Sorry...that turned more ranty than intended, considering that in the end, I do think he's talking more. Not the 50-word-vocabulary, certainly, but more. Which is good. We'll see what the pediatrician thinks.
Anyway, enough about that. Andrew continues to be obsessed with trains. And since we were stuck inside for the last half of the week, that's pretty much all I have to show for it.
"Look, Ma! I can pose!"