A Mother's Dream

Chloe. You know we love you. I love you for you silly, creative spirit. Your dad loves how charming you are, even when you are ignoring him. Connor loves how he looks through your adoring eyes. And Grammy loves you for fulfilling one of her greatest wishes, one she's been hoping for almost 36 years now. "I hope someday you grow up and have a daughter who talks as much as you do!"



Chloe, you are a talker. I know that you get it from me. Family lore tells these tales of my childhood:
You only shut up when you were asleep!
Your grandmother always said that you were so full of hot air, if you closed your mouth for very long you'd fart yourself to death!
As many times as I've heard these legends, Chloe, I was still unprepared for the level of skill you have displayed. Like Dizzy Gillespie, it seems you've used the size of your cheeks to perfect your circular breathing technique. Only instead of becoming a talented jazz musician, you've become a non-stop talker. It's impressive! And exhausting.

So here's the thing, child. I need you to shut up. Not permanently, but just for a minute, just long enough for someone else to finish a sentence, long enough for us to direct our attention to any other person in the world, even long enough for me to begin to answer any of the thousand questions you throw my way in the course of one of your monologues. And don't tell me that I should cherish this time with you as a child, that someday you'll grow up and never talk to me and I'll wish I had paid more attention to your babytalk. Because I know you'll grow up, but you'll never stop talking- even if it's only to complain or tell me how stupid I am. And as far as cherishing this time goes? Well, I've got a memory bank full of things you've said. Now it's time for me to capture some memories of your serene face as you concentrate quietly on your favorite toy, or of your smiling face as you play silently with Clark. Please.

It's up to you, Chloe. Only you can grant my wish for a moment of silence. Or you can choose to talk my ear off from the minute your feet hit your bedroom floor in the morning to the time of night when I walk out of your bedroom, mid-sentence, to let you talk yourself to sleep. I assume you'll choose the latter. But chances are good that someday you will grow up and have a daughter who runs her mouth as much as you do. So someday, somewhere, I'll get the last laugh. Right, Mom?