I Am Giant, Hear Me Dooga

Like many slacker mothers of third children, I finally took Sienna in for her 12 month well child (yes, I know she's actually 15 months.) I knew that she was behind on her immunizations because I had missed a few well child checks (okay, 3 to be exact) but I rationalized it to myself because she is the picture of health. Just like her older brother and sister, she is in the 100th percentile for height but only the 25th for weight. (How Brad and I have managed to create skinny children is beyond me.) The doctor and I went over the usual stuff and then she asked me if I had any concerns, which I did. Just one eensy, teensy, concern. SHE'S MUTE.

Before you get all hyped on me, hear me out. Spence and Hannah were both saying quite a few things at this age on their own, and even when they didn't feel like generating words to us, they would always parrot stuff back. When we try to get Sienna to talk, she always replies with an emphatic "dooga." What dooga actually means, I don't know, but it seems to cover everything from "more milk please" to "I don't want to get dressed right now" to "I've pooped my pants and dookie is running down my legs."

I know it's not really that big of a deal and that there is often a natural delay in the second or third child speaking because they have an older sibling to do it for them, but seriously, it would help me out tremendously if she'd just FREAKIN TALK. Brad and I sound like a bunch of slow-talking goobers as we try to get Sienna on the oral communication bandwagon. "N-o Sie-nna, you ne-ed to s-it do-wn pl-ea-se."

I feel slightly reassured by her great physical stature. (Which is funny because even though she's tall, she seems so petite.) I mean, say she keeps the mute thing up well into adulthood. At least her towering height as a giant will get people to listen to her. Until then, I'll get to work on the first ever Dooga Dictionary.