The Challenge of a Chatterbox

by Lara Reynolds

My four-year-old daughter can talk the hind leg—or a hoof, at the very least—off a mule, as the old saying goes. I’m not sure why. My husband and I aren’t big chatters and, for the most part, my two-year-old son just nods or shakes his head. When my daughter was my son’s age, she probably had more than three times as many words in her vocabulary. Maybe the reason she talks so much has something to do with her being our first child who received more one-to-one attention early on. Maybe it’s because girls, generally speaking, tend to develop communication skills sooner. Who knows?

Clearly though, not all children are so verbally inclined. When she was only two, my daughter would bewilder and even scare the pants off her peers at the park with her friendly banter. So much so that if she didn’t get a response from any of the other kids, my daughter would simply turn the conversation over to the other adults. I had to break that habit for safety reasons, of course, because my daughter wasn’t always selective in choosing her audience. She just seems to have so much to say.

My daughter’s not talking all the time, though. She reads, too. But long after the books are closed, she narrates as she moves, referring to herself in third person: “She clambered onto the train…” or “She dashed up the stairs.” Who knew that walking up the stairs could be so entertaining?

I do try to savor these chatty moments because everybody says they will eventually change. By the time she’s a teenager, they say, she will barely acknowledge my presence in the room, never mind actually have a conversation with me.

Of course, I don’t buy into the theory that all teenagers don’t talk. My niece is 16 now and still rarely pauses for a breath. I recall my parents emerging from a torturous four-hour car ride, bug-eyed and white-faced, having spent the whole trip with her. She materialized out of the back seat, still nattering away non-stop as she walked into the house.

So I do try to listen and enjoy everything my daughter says. For example, when she tells me the reason why brides wear veils (to hibernate) or why flies come into our house (they’re lonely). She’s fond of singing, too. At the park she gets on the swing, and when she’s good and high, starts to belt out inspirational love songs. She prefers to have her hair down at those times, allowing the breeze to lift it off her shoulders. I have to admit, loud as it is, I get a kick out of her singing. Sometimes, when the park is empty, I’ll jump on the next swing and sing along.

But her chattiness isn’t always so easy to enjoy. Like most kids, she often chooses to chat when I’m speaking on the phone or trying to go to the bathroom by myself. These are not always the best times to philosophize about why Dad has hair on his toes. The whole household can be blissfully silent for five to 10 minutes straight, but as soon as Mom picks up the phone, or heaven forbid, actually tries to have a conversation with Dad, there she is. She desperately, urgently needs to talk to one of us right now. Responding with “Please let me finish my chat with Dad,” results in a little head of curls bouncing up and down between us like a super ball. She will burst into a thousand pieces if she can’t reveal the gripping fact that her brother dropped a raisin in her water at lunch.

Like most parents, I’m sure, I’ve caught myself doing the Important Phone Call pantomime. This usually includes attempting a professional-sounding conversation on the phone while simultaneously waving my arms around wildly and abruptly, motioning to keep the kids quiet. I tend to try things like furrowing my brow, bugging my eyes out, mouthing silent warnings and eventually herding the babbling masses into another room and closing the door. How do two small children manage to sound like 10?

I’m learning about how often I use my voice during the day, because my daughter will respond to every word, grunt, or um. “What, Mom? You said hmm. What is it? Why did you say hmm? What happened, Mom? Is anything the matter?” I try to answer all of her questions, but my responsess don’t always meet with her satisfaction. An innocent discussion can turn into an interrogation. “What do you mean the water gets flushed down the pipes? What pipes? I don’t see any pipes. Where are the pipes?”

Of course, the constant narration has its benefits. Often I hear her jabbering away at her brother as they play together. I try to take advantage of this time to make dinner, so I half listen, half read a recipe. Suddenly, her words sink in. “No, that’s not safe,” she says. I sprint into the living room just in time to scoop my little guy off the back of the sofa, where he was poised to make a perfect swan dive, head first, onto the floor. Dinner can wait.

My daughter is surprisingly patient with her younger brother. She occasionally grabs a toy from him in frustration, though, but not because she didn’t use her words first. Instead of saying “Give that back,” she’ll explain that she had it first and discuss the possibility and benefits of sharing. All of this tends to fall on deaf ears considering she’s talking to a two-year-old who just wants her Slinky. Then I have two kids screaming.

Despite all those moments when I wish I had remote-control volume (mute button anyone?), most of the time I either enjoy the conversation or giggle with her or about her comments. I’m sure they won’t always be so curiously innocent.

Recently, on one of those non-stop prattling days when I felt I’d had enough, I asked my daughter (after interrupting her seemingly endless stream of chatter) “Why do you talk so much?” Without hesitation, she replied, “I need to express myself.” I had to smile. Enough said.

Lara Reynolds is a mom who writes to get a word in edgewise.