As this wet and windy week has gone
on I have fallen in a bit of a physical heap. Various aches and pains
laying me low. A sore throat has been the latest symptom added to the
list. Nevertheless I managed a 'very' social day yesterday – which
included an afternoon playdate at a friends house with lots of mummy
and kid chat, and an evening out to celebrate a work colleges
promotion – being on maternity leave I had lots of news to hear and
share. By this morning I could barely manage a whisper. Usually even
if I am a little horse my voice will find its way back before to
long. But not today. Today I am voiceless.
Looking after a toddler
– who is himself learning new words at a rapid rate – without a
voice has been interesting. A lot of our usual conversations go like
this:
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
'Mummy'
'Yes Rafa'
And I wait, always
saintlike for him to get to the point. He is evolving. His
conversations with strangers of: 'Hi,... by', now sometimes have a
few words thrown in the middle, and even if he does not know all the
words he does this very cute 'mumble mumble mumble dog mumble' -
sentences in waiting. I have been thrilled with him learning to say
Finn, on top of his usual repertoire of Mummy, daddy, baby. Anyway – the point is
he expects a response! And I have had to whisper at best, which is
confusing – and confusing, or frustrating a toddler is not something you want to do.
 |
| Our two boys in Autumnal Edinburgh, 2015 |
I did not dare take charge of walking Rafa along the street today. It is a
challenge which requires a very firm voice – with clear 'Stop'
commands. Luckily Jon was home and able to look after that task.
While Jon and the little boys
went off to playgroup, voiceless me took my laptop to the local
cafe to send some emails – a task not requiring a voice aside from
an apologetic whispered 'Flat white.' I got on well enough. People
who come to cafes with laptops are expected to be anti-social after
all.
When the boys all came
back after playgroup I took wee Finn and gave him a feed – he and I
like to be together without words. Jon told me about the playgroup
events and I nodded along. Somehow due to the small cafes configuration Rafa ended up
in a high chair adjacent to the woman sitting behind us in a wheel
chair. Armed with a pork pie and plenty of words he did his best to
chat with her and she did her best to chat back.
'Mumble mumble mumble
mummy,' said Rafa
'Yes,' said the lady
'Mumble mumble mumble
mummy,' said Rafa
'Yes,' said the lady
'Mumble mumble mumble
mummy,' said Rafa
'Yes,' said the lady
'Mumble mumble mumble
mummy,' said Rafa
'Yes,' said the lady
'Mumble mumble mumble pie,' said Rafa
'Yes,' said the lady.
As their chat went on –
and round and round I began to realise that her chat was as
limited as Rafa's and mine – though for different reasons. She had
perhaps suffered a stroke at some stage. Rafa eventually got restless
and I turned around to him. The woman's face showed her delight in
realising that there was a smaller baby nestled in my arms and the
movement I made distracted Finn from his settled feed – and drew
his attention to the woman smiling at him. He smiled
back. Sharing the delight of a beautiful babe in arms does not need any words.
As the day has gone on
it has been interesting to see how communication between my husband
and I is impacted by my not having a voice. I have been limited to 'necessary' additions. A bit like speaking to someone who does not speak much of the same language – you are not going to speak of feelings or tell involved tales, you are going to ask where the bathroom is, and how much the beer costs.
His speech however has
been in full flow! With no pesky wifely interjections he can tell
long Nordic sagas whilst I can only listen and nod along. If the occasion should arise that I should need to leave the room to
feed the baby I can only hope I have the chance to catch his eye before I go in case he continues telling the story to an empty room.
Rather than calling out from room to room with a list of tasks I think he should be doing, if I want to speak to him I need first to make sure I have his attention. A touch on his arm, and eye contact needs to precede my quiet murmurs – or else all the effort is blown off in the wind. Nordic sagas aside I did at one point remind him that he need not whisper back to me, but there is something nice about looking your beloved in the eye and speaking the quiet important things that need to be said in the day.
Silence has interesting resonances. Pesky, frustrating at times, but on occasion the unsaid, or quietly just barely spoken connects us all.
