Baby Talking

I know a family that talks baby talk. They've always done it and I have to admit that I have done it with them. But not for nearly thirty years. I would say I'm technically cured.

I don't know how it began. Just silliness I suppose. I asked my husband about it. My first one. The psychologist. "Just fun." "Harmless." "Nothing to get worried about." And he began to do it, too. Every time he was with them. Good grief.

So, I simply put it all out of my mind. When they were around, I played along a little. Everything got fuzzy. "Just forget it." "Don't YOU ever just want to have fun?" "Well, you are blessed with aggravating habits, too, you know." "Don't spoil a good time." An echo from the past.

My second husband, not a psychologist, noticed their tendency right away. Even when the talk was not downright baby talk, there was an inane quality about it - humor gone bad. A trying too hard. A hatefulness that was as sweet as local honey.

Of course, he approached me. "There is something just not right about talking baby talk all the time. Think about it. Distance yourself from it if you can. It makes me feel uncomfortable for them and for you." Having spoken his mind, he went outside to DO something in the garage, as if to say, "Make yourself aware. I won't mention it again."

He never did. Not once in all those years. He never let on that I might have given the "situation" a lot of thought. He never asked me if I felt better once I "got real" and stopped joining in. He never even acted as if he noticed that I approached every conversation with the family in adult language. But he did. He noticed everything. Even on times when I put a bag over my head and played dead, he could see the truth in things.

The years passed. The baby talk sometimes passed itself off as "Aren't I witty?" "Aren't I educated?" "Ain't I special?" "Cute!" "Funny me!" but underneath everything, even when the question became the answer in their conversations, the baby talk was still there when the babies finally started coming,  pets joined the family, and the mode of conversation was legitimized to a great extent.

Time marches.... Changes in relationships. Friendships gone south.... Not much communication. Finally, not any. None. Meanwhile, the Internet is born, cats are herded, facebook joined! Friends don't have to BE friends and family doesn't have to BE family.

...friending and de-friending and building fake lines of allies and defense. Suddenly I realize. That family is still talking baby talk. Yes. On facebook. In front of everyone.

This time I have no one to tell.

No one notices. I begin my computer research. When is baby talk a good thing? How does it support and make baby feel safe, loved? When is it used to sweep adult feelings under the carpet? Can baby talk be a form of verbal abuse? How do we keep others at arm's length through language? Why do we talk to pets in that way? Mates? Friends? Family? How do we control others through baby talk?

Did I ever learn a lot! You really should do the research if you are curious....an eye-opener.

I've never talked to Squirrel in baby talk. I didn't consider the use of any such language for many years. A minimum with my first grandchildren. But for heaven's sake. They were babies!  I gurgled and cooed and made up words a little when Tom and Jack were babies, too. Well, who wouldn't? So sweet, so tiny, so exactly alike.

The baby talking family has a little baby in it now. That's fair. Babies are who baby talk is for. But I can't help notice that they continue to communicate with each other in a rather odd, babyish, silly way and I guess that's all right too, since they are not talking to me.

No more baby talking this cat though. Belle is eleven years old now! "Whose sweet boo is she?" and "her is Granny's good girl" is just wrong on so many levels! When did I start that? When she came to live with me she was eight years old and really did not care for her new home. Did I want her to love me? Well, she does. Did I want her to be my friend? Well, she is. So I have caught myself in mid-stream and I have reversed the way I speak to her. We are roommates, after all.

Last night, I said (as one mature adult to another) "Belle, stop spreading that food all over the carpet. You are being childish and I'm going to get the broom."  She's very intelligent. She is attuned to many key words and even more so to many voice tones and facial expressions. Belle is the body language Queen.

She cleaned up all that food. Crunch. Crunch. She looked around. We have a bond after three years together. We smiled at each other. We certainly don't need to resort to baby talk.