First Words

Thefirst words my two daughters spoke are very interesting and have very uniquestories behind them.

Butin order to understand the humor of my second daughter’s first word, a littlecontext is necessary.

Context, after all, is everything. For example, when myfirst daughter spoke her first word, it was “a fan, a fan” in which the word“fan” is pronounced “f-ah-n” because “chi fan” means to eat in mandarin. Sobecause I had this annoying neighbor who was her manny briefly, between themonths of six and eight, and when I had begun writing my dissertation for allthree hours a week—it’s a miracle I wrote it in a year—he would indulge in hisown whimsical fantasies.

You see, he was a massage therapist who had a formerlife as a navy pediatric nurse, and yes that was is job. He loved talking abouthow he could make infants pee by putting their butts against cold steel. Incase you’re wondering, it was because they needed urine samples. 

Anyway,to amuse himself and since he was never going to have children—he was alreadyin his fifties and was liaisoned with a woman whom he had rescued from amarriage to a wealthy doctor and who would dump him the minute she got herdivorce settlement—he tried to teach my daughter various things. Like how towalk. At seven months. This was terrible. He thought it was very funny. The moreI protested, the more skills he taught her.

Soat a year old, she could already walk quite well, even run in that clumping waybabies do, and I was determined to have her be bilingual. Ok, it’s true that I speakEbonics when it comes to Mandarin. Can’t help it. But my husband, now he’sfluent. ‘Course, he was working at the time, but indulge my fantasy, will you? Becauseit made perfect sense to me, in the midst of my addled, I’ve just had a childand now I’ve got to write my dissertation state of mind. At any rate since I don't actually speak mandarin but my husband does and despite that he worked and I was the one spending all the time with her , somehow that he was her father despite that he was always working seemed relevant to her language acquisition. And since she already walked I figured I'd make her binlingual too. I know, it doesn't really make sense to me now, either. Anyway when she knew it was time to eat, she'd run to the high chair, all the while squealing "A fan! A fan!" In joyous anticipation. 

Fortunately,I did not have to worry about any potentially overachieving physicality on thepart of my second child-no manny. I also firmly believe in underachievement. I mean, whywould I want to chase around a cute walking fatso everywhere? Bad enough with hercrawling and getting into the catfood. Which, by the way, makes her so proud,especially when she’s able to sneak a bit into her mouth. Her fat little facejust absolutely lights up with satisfaction. Come to think of it, she does actlike a kitty in so many other ways so maybe she’s on to something. 

Wherewas I? Oh, right, underachievement. I simply do not understand motherswho want their children to walk as early as possible. It’s certainly notpredictive of anything. Except maybe wrinkles on the mother’s forehead. Oh, andback pain. Lots of back pain. My thought is that these women are either a)uninformed in that they don’t actually read and understood the lack ofcorrelation between walking and intelligence, b) they are stupid, or c) theyare gluttons for punishment. I personally favor a combination of b and c. 

Besides,the fact is, she spoke her first words at around seven months. Sort of like myfirst daughter walking at seven. What’s with the number seven, anyway?

So as I was saying, context. I seem to have meandered into these odd verbalcul-de-sacs. My apologies. It’s too early to drink. Where was I? Context. Sothis is not to elicit sympathy or anything, but I freely admit that it’s beenhard. We’ve had three parental deaths in nine years, including one right afterwe got married and that right after the third parental death, after my daughterwas born. A year later, my husband lost his job, which state lasted two years.Then I got pregnant a year and a half later and right before I was about togive birth, there were rumblings in my husband’s new firm was beginning to havefinancial problems. Evidently the way they do business is not to try to have asteady flow of work but merely to lay people off whenever work gets low andthen rehire people when it picks up again. One person has gone through thisfive times in his time there. 

Theytold him not to take his family leave since while it might be paid, there wasno guarantee that he’d have a job when his six weeks were up. That, evidently,is the law. Well, surprise, he got laid off when our second daughter was threeweeks old. It was a bittersweet time because we had to worry about financesonce more, but then again, he got to spend time with the little one. Whoactually looked like a refugee baby at the time because I was delusional oncemore about my ability to produce breastmilk in an adequate supply. I am nolonger delusional about that. Neither was she: at six months, just like hersister, she weaned herself. Something along the lines of, “Uh, mama, this wholenursing thing is not working for me. Pass the bottle, please.” She now looks,how shall I say? Very healthy. Very.

Tobacktrack a tad, when she was four months old, he sexind firm that laid my husband rehired him: as aconsultant. This was good and bad. It meant that he was subject to the whims ofthe project he was hired for and that we would be responsible for our owntaxes. On the other hand, it also meant that we would be initially getting moremoney up front. But in seven weeks, that project fizzled too. Or rather, it was the client's finances that were doing the fizzling. And there went my husband again. Out the door. 

Intothis situation went my tension. Now, as anyone who knows me realizes, I can bea tad, umm, wound. I’m aware ofmyself, infinitely so, but that does not always mitigate that intensity. Thiswas compounded by the fact that it falls on me to take care of my familyemotionally. To keep everything sane, to keep an eye on and manage thepracticalities while also maintaining the emotional balance lest someone gocrazy. This is a lot of pressure.

Thatpressure, like all steam, must needs be released every once in a while. And oneday, it was. It was fairly minor. I can’t, to be honest, even remember what itwas. I was downstairs. With the baby, who was fattening nicely on formula. Hercheeks were starting to sag like a Saint Bernard’s, and her thighs werestarting to achieve a heft that reminded me of the Flintstones’ turkey dinodrumsticks. She was just testing out her ability to sit. Not completely withoutsupport, but leaning on what were becoming satisfying fat arms. 

AsI was saying, it was minor, I don’t recall so I won’t make anything up. What Idid do was something I consider very déclassé and simply not done, not theleast of which reason I don’t want our children doing it, but out of irritationand did I mention the steam needing release thing? I did it. I yelled up thestairs: “Guyyyyyy.” In a particular tone and inflection. The baby looked up thestairs. Nothing. 

Guyknew he had done something to annoy me so he wisely said nothing and waited. Ithen informed him of his minor infraction, in an equally irritated tone. 

Aday later, I was reminded once more reminded why I had vowed to never yell upthe stairs. Not only is it undignified, but it provides an unfortunate modelfor innocent mouths. And what is amazing is that the fussy fatso, and she wasfussy each time she did it, understood the context completely. 

Thefirst incident was that she was hungry. I was busy and she saw that. As in, shealready knew that mama on the computer is a cue for I am the second line ofdefense. Yes, I work in her eyesight. In fact, when she first realized thisequation, at two months old, it would make her cry whenever I opened mycomputer. But now, she knew that while I was keeping her company, daddy wasfirst line of defense. Actually, it may have been what she witnessed the otherday. 

Andthe other thing that puzzles me is why adults always marvel at the memory ofchildren. As in, it’s so good, s/he remembers something from months ago. Duh.They’re minds are not filled with all the detritus we have in ours. They arebuilding new pathways. Of course theycan remember things. There’s nothing inthere, yet. Honestly. No common sense. 

Anyway,daddy is first line of defense. I’m hungry. I’ve made a few milder attempts atgetting his attention, and he’s not responding. “GUYYYYYY!” If you can imagineit. In this cute baby voice. The first word she ever spoke. Imputed withmeaning. Context. “GUYYYYY!” whenever she wanted something. A bottle. A changeof diaper. Or if she wanted a change of venue, for example if she was tired ofcommando-crawling along the floor, she would belt that out. 

Itlasted for about a month. I was urged repeatedly to get it on YouTube but afterall, how can one predict that sort of thing? Besides, it wasn’t funny unlessyou knew the context. Writing is so much better.