word

Clark talks a lot--in one word sentences. They are full sentences, though only one word, full thoughts, full statements with implication and inflection. We can have a whole conversation this way. Also, when not conversating, he narrates, which is pretty cute.

Outside he stops walking and listens, his eyes still and big. "Plane," he says.
"Yes, there is a plane in the sky," I say.
"Noise," he says. "Loud."

At the Library we play at the train table.
"Blue!"
"Yes, that train is blue."
"Hold," with his hand outstretched.
"You can hold it."
Then, "Drop. Fall."
"It did fall when you dropped it. You going to pick it up?"
"Mommy," he says.
"You want Mommy to get it?"
"Yes." Of course he does.

There's another father at the train table with his daughter, same age as Clark. The man sits and plays with them both and Clark loves it. While Clark is engrossed with the trains the man and his daughter leave. Then Clark looks up and notices he's gone.
"Miss," he says.
"Did you miss his leaving?"
"Go."
"Yes, the man went away."
"Go," Clark says again, this time with his hand upturned and I realize it's a question.
"He went into the other room."
"Get," he says as he starts to walk away.
"No honey, we can't go get him."
"Yesss." He pronounces his Ss very distinctly.
I laugh. "We don't even know his name. We can't go get him. He's looking at books."
"Try," he says.

This is my favorite of his new expressions. He looks at me so earnestly.
Try.
He says this a lot when I tell him no. Perhaps he's an optimist.

He holds a book open to a torn page and says, "Fix".
"I can't fix it, Baby. We don't know where the other piece is."
"Try," he says.
"It can't be fixed Clark."
"Try," he repeats, nodding.
Finally I say, "We'll try," and he's satisfied.

As we climb into the car after the library I mention the train at the toy store from other day, one that runs overhead around and around.
"Stop," he says.
"What stopped?"
"Train."
"Oh, right. When we were there the train stopped, didn't it?"
"Girls."
"What girls?"
"Girls. Talk."
"Right! The sales girls talked and then they got the train to start up again, didn't they?"
"Go."
We have this conversation three times in a row.

His speech is so fascinating to me. I'd expected the word explosion to happen by now, for him to turn his single words into 3 word phrases. Looking back, Frances was 19 or 20 months when it happened. Clark is 23 months today and I know these things happen later with boys, but it's more than that. Because he hasn't moved into full sentences and yet has still developed cognitively he has to be more creative in how to get his point across. It's fascinating to watch, and he's gotten pretty good at it.

Here's another we have at least once a day:

"Scary." 

"What's scary?"

"Car wash."

"Right. You don't like the car wash, do you?"

"Loud."

"It is loud, that's true."

"Hand."

"Right, I held your hand. Did that help?"

"Scary."

What does one do when the car is already in the carwash, in neutral, propelling slowly through, when the panic strikes? Hold hands, that's what. 

Just now Mitch came downstairs from putting Clark to bed and told me that Clark has requested I come up and sing him Hush Little Baby. Mitch told Clark he would tell me, but that I might not come up. "Try," Clark said. "Try."