Without Words

I had just been looking at photos of my beautiful grandchildren on the Frameo that my daughter and son-in-law gave us for Christmas a couple of years ago.  It’s a bittersweet gift for which I’m grateful.  Sweet –because I love having photos to glance at every day, making me feel like my family is near.  Bitter — because they aren’t near. They are busy living their work/school/daycare lives about an hour from me.  I don’t see them nearly as often as I wish.

Just then, my phone rang. It was my daughter on a Tuesday night at about 7:30. She usually doesn’t call just to chat on weeknights, so something was up.

“Hello,” I said. 

“Hi, Mom,” she answered in an apparent glum voice.

“What’s wrong, hon?”

“Owen has a fever, and we can’t take him to the daycare with a fever.  We’ve used up almost all our sick days with sick kids. Could you come stay with him tomorrow?” 

“Yes!!” I said, interrupting her last sentence. 

Sick or not, I live for moments with my grandkids.  Katie apologized and tried to explain that she and my son-in-law each had only one sick day left, and they were concerned about what to do if a serious illness descended upon the family. It is, after all, the beginning of flu season.  Owen is nine months old and in the midst of teething.  It was very likely his fever was associated with the teething.  He’d also recently had an ear infection that might have been lingering.  Regardless, I happily agreed to babysit.

The next day, I was up by 5:00 and on the road by 6:00, reporting for duty by 7:15.  The family was scurrying around, trying to get things together to depart for school and work.  Owen, or “Owey” as we call him, sat wide-eyed, watching, not realizing he would not go to daycare.  Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and then everyone waved goodbye.  I held Owen as we stood in the doorway and waved to everyone.  Owen is a quiet baby who rarely makes a peep.  But I could see there was deep concern on his sweet little face as his brow furrowed, watching Mom and sisters drive away. He turned to look at me as if to say, “They forgot me!”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I reassured.  “Granny is here to care for you, and they’ll be back.” His little fingers tightly clenched my shirt as he studied my face. 

“Let’s read a book,” I said.  In my opinion, a book is always good medicine for whatever might ail us.  I picked up a small, palm-sized board book about a frog at a pond and began to read.  Immediately, Owen was engrossed, eyes glued to each page.  He never made a sound, but his tiny index finger moved around each page, pointing at things. Wherever his finger landed, I said the name of what Owen had singled out and talked about what was happening in the pictures.  When we finished reading the book, I closed the covers and said, “All done!” He grabbed the book and opened it again, pointing. “No, Granny! We are not done,” is how I interpreted his body language. So, we read the book again.  And again, and again, and again. I loved that he loved the book, and I probably could have read it to him a hundred more times, and he would have been delighted. But I needed to find something else. I grabbed another book and after that, about six more.  Owey loves books!  There’s nothing I love more than sharing a book with a child.

After our reading time, Owen seemed fine with having a day alone with me. We progressed to playing with balls, blocks, and toys that he could throw or drop, and I’d fetch. He showed me how fast he could crawl and how skilled he’d become at pulling himself up, squatting, and then standing up again. Still no words, but he beamed with delight at his accomplishment. I picked him up, stood him on my lap, telling him I loved him, and kissed him on his neck. Owen wiggled and squealed. No words needed to tell me he was ticklish, but he liked it.

Soon, Owen whimpered and made “mmmum, mmum, mmum sounds.” I walked with him to the kitchen. “I’ll bet you’re hungry,” I said. His mom had left his food options out on the kitchen island. I picked up the can of little chewy fruit-flavored cereal puffs, and his eyes indicated he approved.  I poured some into my hand, and quickly, he grabbed one after another and shoved them in his mouth. I then gave him some bits of banana, which he loved. But when satisfied, words were unnecessary to tell me he’d had enough.  He raised his hands, stretched, and ran his sticky banana-coated fingers through his hair! A thorough wash-up followed. 

After breakfast, we watched a little Mickey Mouse, and I noticed Owen staring without blinking as if entranced. He’d been awake since six a.m., and it was now 10:30. Could he possibly be sleepy?  I shut the television off and turned him so he could lay his head on my shoulder. Then I began to rock him and sing. As I sang, I gently stroked the side of his face, and quickly, his eyes closed. Within minutes, he was asleep.  I’d read the signs correctly.  It may have been many years since I raised a baby, but I still could understand them, though they spoke no words.  I was proud of myself, and I hadn’t forgotten how.  But more than anything, I hoped that though Owen couldn’t talk and might not know the meaning of words, he would understand how deeply I love and believe in him. I firmly believe that while words are helpful, they aren’t necessary to convey everlasting love.

Because our sweet Owen is such a quiet-natured child, I’ve reviewed The Quiet Book by Deborah Underwood, illustrated by Renata Liwska, for this month’s book review under Recommended Reads.

And just for fun, you can practice reading people’s expressions (like I read Owen’s) with my Quiet Communications worksheet, which is found under the Activities section of this blog.