I Am Not A Translator

I present to you today, the latest installment of this blog's only feature - Shit My Kid Needs To Learn.

I almost majored in English in college.

Until I realized that the only thing that you can do in life with an English degree is teach or work a dead-end job until you come up with some other lame-ass graduate degree major to go back to school for. 

So I quit school.

Which really has nothing to do with what I came here to blog about today, it just shows you how my mind works. You see, I couldn't think of anything else that I liked enough to occupy me for the next 2 (or more years of school), my thought process started becoming too big, too overwhelming, I couldn't declare and under the (perceived) pressure of it all I just quit. 

I will go back, and again that has nothing to with why I am here today.

I love the English language. I love to write, I love to read, I love to hear people speak (which is why the TV always seems to be on in the background, at least I am claiming that that is the reason).

During my 4 year history with the Supergirl, there was a 4 month period somewhere between 18 months and 2 years old that her vocabulary exploded, except that most people didn't know it, because they couldn't understand her. I became her translator. I could tell people the amazingly insightful things that my little one could say! I was smart, I was needed! I again existed in the Universe that was Supergirl-land. Adults would have to talk to me to talk to the cute kid, they would be forced to make eye contact with me while I explained her political views and observations, grandparents actually realized my purpose in life was more than to just drive the kid to event A or B! I had function, I had purpose - I was Supergirl's translator!

And then it ended, just as abruptly as it started.

Sigh.

Recently, a new language has entered our home. A language that I do not understand. A language I will not ever understand.

It usually starts with a very high pitched "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."

I stare in utter confusion at the half-me standing in the center of the room. "What?"

She looks at me in disbelief and then does it again, louder like I am hard of hearing, "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."
I am not getting it, so I head to the kitchen. "This, do you want this?" much like I did when she was 9 months old and just crying for no real reason.

Louder and louder it gets, my head is throbbing, I am panicked because I cannot understand this irritating  and loud new language. "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."
She is following me now, repeating herself like a zombie. I don't get it. I just don't get it. Why must she be so loud, so irritating, so, so, so...WHINY?

Had she hurt herself, fallen down, been even a little tired, I might understand the whine a bit more, but she now whines as her NORMAL voice. I have to beg for her to slow herself down just to understand any of the words that she forms.

I know it's another phase, but, oh my goodness, this could lead to some serious therapy later on down the road.