Last night, after all the guests were gone, we were all sitting in our family room, enjoying the rare state of cleanliness and a little family time (the children had been banished upstairs during the strengthening marriage class). I was sitting in a chair with Quinn kicked back sideways on my lap, downing the last of his sippy cup before bed. He was kicking/flopping his one foot around, kind of kicking my wrist/hand, kind of kicking the arm of the chair.
“He about got you in the head,” McH said.
“He’s not trying to kick my head,” I replied, “He’s just kicking the chair and getting my arm a bit.”
“Well, he’s almost gotten your head a couple of times. I think he might be considering it.”
“No, no,” I said. Then I looked down at my sweet boy and said, “You’re not trying to kick me in the head, are you? You’d never do that to me . . .” and . . . Thwack! Before I could even finish punctuating my question with a big smile, he got me in the face and punctuated the action with a smile of his own.
I know the appropriate response at times like this isn’t really laughter, but oh. my. word. We all cracked up. We tried not to (except for the girls), we really tried; but we couldn’t help it.
As I’ve mentioned before, Quinn doesn’t talk a lot. He also has this talent of ignoring us so completely and thoroughly that we’ve wondered off and on if he could hear adequately, or if he was really behind on his receptive language skills, or what. Over the past several months his facade has cracked enough times that we knew he could hear just fine, and we knew he was understanding things; but we’ve still found ourselves wondering just how much he understands.
The past week or so, however, the facade seems to just be crumbling entirely, he no longer seems to be trying to fool us about what he does and doesn’t get. And last night? Well, obviously he got it. And then I got it. And then we laughed.
Earlier in the day yesterday, I sat with him for a few minutes with his alphabet puzzle (he LOVES the wooden puzzles), and he would actually say the letter sounds with me. We’ve all heard him say one here or there, but that was the first time that he sat there and imitated whatever sound I was making. Well, until we got to the p sound, anyway. After that he wouldn’t do any more, because he was having too much fun making that hard p and blowing spit all over in the process. Thought he was quite funny, he did.
Later, when I was changing his diaper, I gave him the letter s to play with during the process, and I asked him what the s says. “SSSSSsssssssssssss,” he said, and kept saying through the rest of the diaper change.
Again, here I sit, wondering how much of my child’s behavior is part of who he is, how much of it is biological, and how much of it is just him dealing with the disruption of his adoption in his own way? He hasn’t had any sleep issues to speak of, he hasn’t had the anger and rage that Tank Boy had, he has been affectionate and very trusting, and almost unnaturally happy. So maybe all of this language stuff is just him controlling an aspect of his life that we really can’t touch. We can talk to him, read to him, play with him; but we can’t make him understand, we can’t make him acknowledge that he understands, and we can’t make him talk to us.
Whatever it is, I’m glad he’s progressing.
Oh, and have I mentioned? This kid loves the Wii Fit!
And me? I’m liking the new look of my family room. One of these days we’ll actually hang the television up on the wall, and maybe someday I can dump the slouchy slip covers and actually have my furniture reupholstered, but for now? I’m liking it all much better than it was:
Obviously I didn’t really take a before photo. I always forget to do that. Grrr . . .
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt has to go calm down a puppy who doesn’t seem to realize she’s just come back from surgery.