My son’s first word was ‘cheese’.
He looked at the cheese, he wanted the cheese, he put his hand out and said ‘cheese’, and I screamed like I’d just won the lotto. Not only was it his first word, it was stupidly cute and, I mean … CHEESE. Right? What’s not to love about this story?
I don’t remember my daughter’s first word, because second child (poor little doll). I have a feeling it was ‘more’, and that sounds like her, so let’s just go with that.
First words are magical. After months of whingeing, whining, grunting, pointing and meltdowns because WHY DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT?, it’s a huge milestone when your tiny baby becomes a real human being who has learnt to communicate. Oh, the wonderful conversations you’ll have!
First words are written down in books. Videos are taken for posterity. The whole family has agreed they’re now called ‘hippups’ instead of hiccups and the things you wear on your feet are called ‘sues’.
The first time your child turns to you and says ‘Lub yoo’ feels like a windfall after sitting at the same poker machine for two years straight. Oh, how hard you’ve worked, and it was all worth it for those two tiny words.
Once the words begin, they come thick and fast. One day your child is saying ‘cat’ and ‘ball’ and the next day she’s saying, ‘Can I get a snack please?’
But, like anyone who suddenly discovers a superpower, they soon start to abuse it. Two years of pent-up rage over denied delights and restricted rights comes to the fore.
The mere suggestion of a bath will trigger memories of all those baths given without permission and now your neighbour is at the window, wondering if they should do something about the small child howling, ‘NO BATH, DON’T TOUCH ME! LEAVE ME LOOONE!’*
All those times you thought it was okay to swear in front of a six month old haunt you as your child waltzes into day care and sings merrily to her teachers, ‘Good morning, bitches!’*
You’ll realise you should maybe monitor what your child is watching on TV when he turns to a kid in the playground and says, ‘Calm ya tits, son.’*
That honesty you’re encouraging in your child will pay dividends when she stares at you with interest one morning and finally declares, ‘I don’t like your face.’*
There will also come a time you would pay cash money to not hear the word ‘Mummy’ for a solid ten minutes.
The pay-off for the incessant chatter is that among the 80,000 words being thrown at you every day, will be some nuggets of such pure gold that you will throw your back out laughing. And I don’t care who you are, but the first time your three year old turns to another child and says, ‘I’m going to kick your LEGO, mother-f#@&er’,* it’s really hard not to laugh.
Your job is to get a notebook and write it all down because you’ll forget what they said ten minutes after they said it and there’s nothing quite like looking back at some of the brilliance your child has shared.
And at least they’re not having a tantrum.
*All things real children have said.