The Doctor: It’s okay, she’s still all yours. And really you should call her mummy, not big milk thing.
Amy: Okay, what are you doing?
The Doctor: I speak baby.
Amy: No you don’t.
The Doctor: I speak everything. Don’t I, Melody Pond? {straightening his bow tie} No it’s not. It’s cool.
~ from Doctor Who, Series 6, Espisode 7, “A Good Man Goes To War” 

Spider Boy speaks baby. I discovered it over the weekend, although if I had been paying closer attention I’m sure I would have noticed it sooner. It’s one of the joys of having a very verbal two-year-old — I get to see the inner workings of his brain. Here are three examples from Sunday:

Example 1: Spider Boy, Bean and I were all hanging out in the living room. Spider Boy was working on a jigsaw puzzle while Bean and I were playing on the playmat. Bean was getting progressively fussier, which seemed a little out of character to me. I was talking to him, saying out loud whatever I was thinking, which was mostly wondering what it was he needed. Spider Boy finally stopped what he was doing, looked at me and said, “He’s thirsty.” I kind of startled and asked him to repeat himself, and he said, in that “Duh!” way he gets from time to time, “Bean is thirsty,” and then he went back to his puzzle. I shrugged and figured it couldn’t hurt to offer Bean some milk, and sure enough, he latched in a somewhat superficial way, drinking a little lazily in a way that was sure to get him only foremilk (more water, less substance), and then he pulled off and was back to his normal, happy self.

Example 2: When we got home from running errands, I unloaded the groceries first, then Bean, then Spider Boy. As we’re slowly making our way into the house, we could hear Bean starting to cry. I nudged Spider Boy, asking him if we could move a little more quickly because Bean was crying. He paused and said, “He wants us to come inside.” I said, “Okay then, let’s help him out and go inside.” Sure enough, Bean stopped crying once he could see we were both in the room with him.

Example 3: Bean was napping while Spider Boy and I were eating lunch. He woke up crying, so my husband went in to get him. His cries only intensified, and Spider Boy and I talked a little about how Bean was crying. Spider Boy said, “He’s crying because he wanted YOU to come get him,” pointing at me. I thought about it for a minute, then went into Bean’s room. Sure enough, he stopped crying as soon as he saw me.

It is fascinating to me how much we have to learn from our children — this time my lesson is about how to really listen to what is being said beneath the words. Spider Boy and Bean were communicating at a level that transcended words. I know I’m capable of it myself, but most of the time that communication gets lost in the fog of words, or in my lack of confidence that I’m really understanding what is needed. I know now I have a translator at least, but it’s a skill I’d really like to further cultivate so that it’s at the forefront of how I listen to people. In the meantime, I remain grateful for these little light beings for showing me the way. Namaste.

Originally posted on Pachamama Spirit