24 months:
"Mama has two eyes. Mama has a hand. Mama is skinny. Mama have lots of
brown hairs. Mama got mama-head. Mama is my mudder. Mama is not a chicken. Mama
loves her baby. Mama sit a chair. Mama stand on a floor. Mama walk. Mama open a
compuger. Mama want to work, be quiet.”
Some time between two and
four months, most babies develop two skills at once: the ability to see something
close to their own faces (before that, only the distance between Mom’s arms and
Mom’s face looked clear!) and the ability to move their hands precisely at
will. This leads to something new altogether: they pass hours fidgeting,
folding, and flexing their tiny hands, amazed at the very existence of their
fingers and, even more spectacularly, at their ability to control them.
The same thing happens when toddlers discover words and language. Even when it’s not necessary to say something, they’ll find a way, and a reason, to use their little lips and their ever-evolving vocabulary. This magical new skill called “language” just demands constant use. They need and want to flex their facial muscles and show the world what they can do with them.
Once my daughter had the words in her repertoire to talk about what she saw and felt, it turned into a cascade of observations. The fact that she was stating the plainly obvious makes me wonder: do we really talk to communicate? Or do we—in early life, especially—sometimes talk just to hear ourselves talk? Are we hard-wired to just love the sound of words and our own voices? Does naming, labeling, and describing our surroundings give us a sense of control? My guess is yes. That is, of course, reinforced by the fact that I talk to myself all the time for no rational reason whatsoever.
The same thing happens when toddlers discover words and language. Even when it’s not necessary to say something, they’ll find a way, and a reason, to use their little lips and their ever-evolving vocabulary. This magical new skill called “language” just demands constant use. They need and want to flex their facial muscles and show the world what they can do with them.
Once my daughter had the words in her repertoire to talk about what she saw and felt, it turned into a cascade of observations. The fact that she was stating the plainly obvious makes me wonder: do we really talk to communicate? Or do we—in early life, especially—sometimes talk just to hear ourselves talk? Are we hard-wired to just love the sound of words and our own voices? Does naming, labeling, and describing our surroundings give us a sense of control? My guess is yes. That is, of course, reinforced by the fact that I talk to myself all the time for no rational reason whatsoever.
No comments:
Post a Comment