X holds up his arms for me to pick him up. He then points imperiously toward the kitchen cabinet.
It's time for a rousing game of "Guess what X wants?"
I open the door. I see a bag of goldfish crackers and hold it up to him. He takes a shot at it, knocking it out of my hands and onto the floor. Clearly it was not what he had in mind.
He points again.
Ba? Could "ba" be a box of raisins?
Now he's getting pissed. I mean, CLEARLY he's telling me what he wants, and I'm just too stupid to figure it out.
I'm getting frantic. He's getting red-faced. A storm is a-brewin'.
Wheat crackers? Veggie sticks? Pretzels? Potato chips? Tin foil? What? Yes? Tin foil?!?!
No. You can't eat that.
We're both in tears at this point.
Because I have no freaking idea what he wants. I don't understand "ba." I don't get "Uh."
Clearly, I don't speak his language. But I should. I should.
He's my baby. We should have this down, shouldn't we? Instead, I need a Rosetta Stone course in Toddlerese.
He is now sitting on the kitchen floor, screaming and kicking his legs.
I walk away. He follows. Screaming. Tears. Snot. He's reaching for me. I pick him up.
We start again.
I frantically scan the contents of the cabinet once again.
He vigorously nods his head, as if to say, "Yes! Finally, you moron! Like, duh!"
This post was part of Mama Kat's writing workshop. The prompt was "Describe a time when you had difficulty communicating with someone who speaks a different language than you."