Words To Live By

Banana Girl got her palate expander today. Apparently, her mouth is too small for her teeth. It is not, however, too small for speech. The child has been speaking non-stop since she was 10 months old. I know I have friends out there with non-verbal children or children whose speech was delayed and therefore, they won't understand what I'm saying, but speech is a little overrated in my house.

For the first four years of her life, she honestly thought speaking and breathing were connected; if she stopped talking, she'd die. I know this, because despite her arguments to the contrary, when I asked her to stop for a minute, she'd hold her breath. Therefore, my telling her to stop talking was the greatest horror a mother could possibly do, in her opinion. She would go to sleep midsentence and pick up where she left off when she woke up. If I told her I had to do something else, or concentrate on something else, she'd say, "That's okay, Mommy" and talk to herself. My dad thinks she'll run out of words by the time she's 12. I think she'll just invent new ones.

The good thing about her constant chatter is that she's the only one who understands when or why I talk to myself. Although I do crave silence when I'm alone, I talk to myself. Some people listen to music, some people rely on phone conversations, I talk. Occasionally, I'll mutter something under my breath while the kids are around. The Princess looks at me like I've lost it (not far from the truth), the husband laughs at me, but Banana Girl nods in understanding.

This makes me a little nervous. I'm not sure I want to pass along my neuroses to her—although I find it very cool that she shares my sense of humor—and I'm not sure that I want to recognize my neuroses in her. It's all very well to tell myself I'm crazy and joke about it. It's a whole different ball of crazy to witness it as others see it.

Of course, most of what I say to myself ends up on paper somewhere—current work-in-progress, idea file, blog, Facebook post or Twitter update. Most of what Banana Girl says remains out in the atmosphere. But she is creative and she does like to write, so maybe the non-stop talking is a precursor to a quieter future.

In the meantime, I'll stock up on the Advil. Whether it's for me or for her, though, will remain a mystery.