When my daughter turned two, I thought that she would magically grow up. She would start speaking like an adult, start working more independently, begin to move and play beyond the her actual maturity level; all of these were things that I imagined to change on October 18, 2018. None of that happened.
My daughter did not start to speak, although she blabbed a mile a minute.
She did not begin to put her shoes on by herself, however much she tried.
She did not follow all the directions I gave her, even though she seemed to be more selective about this specific milestone.
She did not get dismissed from speech or occupational therapy.
But, there was a lot of things that did happen. She continued to run towards me and give me giant bear hugs. She tried to eat new things, and sometimes she didn’t want to eat at all. She picked and chose the days she wanted to take a nap. She became a puzzle-wiz. She perfected the art of independent play and learned to really occupy her own time. She still gave me the best cuddles I could’ve ever asked for. She still let me put her to sleep. She was perfect in her own way.
I had to realize that all of these milestones were more for me, and not for her. She currently has no care in the world about when she will start to speak. It isn’t necessary for her right now. It was me who worried about this for months too long. She can figure out ways to tell me when she’s hungry, when she’s tired, or when she just wants to dance. No other person in the world can understand her the way that we, her parents, can right now.
Realizing this, I discovered that these silent years are truly the most special. These are the days that I can look at her, share a perfect moment, and immediately understand what she is telling me. When I stopped focusing on the absence of words, I started to really hear her. That was the most magical think I have ever shared with my daughter, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.