waiting for words

For as long as he could make noise, I've been waiting for my little man to speak.

In many ways, I'm more excited for the moment he utters his first word than the moment he decides to make walking his sole mode of transportation.

I guess it all boils down to the fact that I want my son to inherit my braininess. I want him to do well in school, to take honors classes, to achieve high marks ... Maybe even become valedictorian (something I never got to do). I want him to be a thinker, to have the ability to problem solve rather than look for the easy way out. I want him to love learning, to get excited for the start of school each fall, to read because it's fun (and not because he has to). I don't want him to be one of those "Huh? What?" teenagers that just sits and stares off into space without a thought in his head.

While I'm probably setting myself up for (at least some) disappointment ... "Being smart" is not necessarily a conscious choice ... I know that Malcolm will become whoever he is meant to be and I will love him all the same.

Even so, as a mother, I feel that the milestones that directly impact this "smartness factor" that I so desire for my son are those that deal with language (and not more overtly physical things like walking or climbing or jumping). And, while my boy seems to know and respond to multiple words (hair, nose, feet, shirt, owl, bear, duck, blanket, up, milk, crackers, more ...), he just hasn't opened his mouth to say any just yet.

Sure, there are lots of "ma ma mas" when he is upset. Or "da da das" when he mutters to himself as he goes about his business each day. There are even grunts and squeals and squeaks to alert me to various changes in mood.

But there aren't any real words.

Oh, how I'm waiting for those real words!

One of my close friends recently said to me: "He'll probably start spouting out complete sentences one day."

Which would certainly be fine ...

But I'd still be happy with that single word.

Just one word to get me going ... To keep my dream of smart progeny alive.

But, like I said, Malcolm is Malcolm.

He is not me.

He is not his father.

He will ultimately be who he is meant to be and I will love him for it.

Smartness aside, I just can't wait to hear his little voice call my name!