Despite Jack's 3rd grade vocabulary (seriously, I am not exaggerating), he has always been unable to fully pronounce his "L's." My speech pathologist babysitter told me that this is not to be expected until kids are 3 or 4. And it's nothing I ever worried about - indeed I have always adored his substitution of "y" for "l" in words.
For example, "Yuyu, I'd yike to go to yunch now and get a yemonade." It just made my heart sing. In the last couple of months, however, the "Y" has become more of a "W" as in "Wuwu, may I please have some wemowade?" It seems like forever ago that he gave up all his funny words for things like t-bop (canteloupe) and noony (noodle) but, in my mind, these mispronunciations were a way to hold on to his sweet baby days.
Yesterday, in a voice as clear and strong as an opera tenor's, Jack said "LLLLLLook mommy, the lllllight on my flashllllight is making a spiderweb on the ceiling." He drew out his L's, perhaps in recognition of his perfect enunciation. Before I could stop them, I felt the tears streaming down my face.
Some people might feel their heart stop when their child takes his first steps, is out of diapers, or starts school. For me, it was the loss of the "y." I know there will be plenty of days to come when I will be reminded that my baby is growing up - his first day of first grade, his first lost tooth, his first crush. [I can't even bring myself to think about college - I literally couldn't make it through those recent Walmart ads where a mother drops her son off at college without losing half my body weight in tears.]
But nothing, nothing will ever break my heart like hearing the "L's."
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