Thursday, November 4, 2010

Silent Mommie

Tuesday past, my voice completely left me all day, and has only returned in patches 3 days later.  The First Born really misses her bedtime story from me.  I gave a valiant effort last night, but she was so disturbed by my coughing fits at every page turn she allowed me to give up and call in a replacement.  But then there was a tantrum and as it turned out she didn't get a story what with poor behavior.  Too sad to be unable to read to her, even sadder for me to be unable to sing lullaby to the baby.  F expressed some fear that I wasn't going to get my voice back---well, Bear expressed that fear, "Well, tell Bear that I've got medicine now, and I'll be okay soon."  I've been ill for a week now, having not shown much improvement, I burst into tears last night 'cause I'm so tired, tired of this illness, tired of inability to be Best Mommy, and really frightened that it mightn't end, that it'll pass on to the girls.  The nurse practitioner decided on two antibiotics to treat what may have started as flu but ended up as a combination of infections ear/nose/throat---superfun.

What I noticed while I was struck dumb.
  • My baby missed my voice.  Signing with her a little so far helped the situation I think, but I notice that she was less vocal around me, and it was heart-wrenching to interpret her questioning looks upon my whispers.
  • Facial expressions and body language are amazing communicators with out voice.  I never considered that my facial expressions could be more expressive, but they had to be considering I didn't have my normal voice inflections.  A smile isn't simply a smile, and a look directly into the eye counts for so, so much.
  • I had so much more time to listen, and nothing at all to say.  My whispered responses weren't going to be heard, and it felt like a luxury to not respond to every little thing said.  It's easier to hear when I'm not thinking about what I'm going to say, and I heard more than I normally do.
  • Thought about what it must be like to be a hearing/speaking child growing up in a deaf/dumb household.  I once knew a young man whose parents were both deaf, yet his faculties were intact, he had interesting child hood stories.

I look forward to regaining my ability to communicate in normal voice rather than honks and squeaks,---and the occasional alarming lowing moan reserved for that persistent throbbing headache.
Not but healing thoughts from here on out, and may I permanently retain that expanded listening ability.

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