Taz has been getting some words back. A few months ago we did not know if she’d speak again. I was accepting that her communicating in other ways would be enough (and it would have been). Our hearts sing when she makes attempts at words and gradually refines them over a few weeks. They are a little unclear but are often accompanied by flamboyant approximations of Makaton signs (the sign for cat is moving three fingers outwards across your cheek, Taz does this in mid air, it looks far more graceful). I emailed her teacher this week with a list of words she has started to use. They include: cat, wow (for Christmas lights), daddy, mummy, flower, bird, cow, car, poo, food, swimming, school, apple, baby, shower, bath.
We went to see some Christmas lights at our local National Trust house the other week. Taz loved it. This is when ‘wow’ really had its moment. She’d see each display and say ‘wow’. The most magical thing about this though, and all of the words she is using, is that she is using them to communicate with us. She is not just labelling what she sees, she is telling us, connecting with us. Words aside, it’s this connection which was the most painful thing to lose last year.
One of our current challenges is that Taz’s growing enthusiasm for all life has to offer means that she is no longer content to hang around the house for a few hours after school. She’ll stamp in from her taxi, get her face nice and close to you and say (and sign) very clearly ‘car’. Every afternoon. She will do this repeatedly, getting increasingly upset, until we have either given in or managed to distract her out of it. We have a range of tools for doing this. Few work. Food’s a simple way to start but brings only temporary relief. She will typically swallow the last mouthful, look solemnly into your eyes and firmly say ‘car’. We try TV, music, toys, garden play, books, dancing (Grandma’s favourite although she often finds herself pirouetting around the kitchen in a solo performance). Often we just give in where we can and find and excuse to pop to the supermarket, or Taz will sometimes grudgingly accept a walk or her buggy instead of the car. I’d have been overjoyed to have seen this progress in Taz last year but wow, it’s hard work. Thank goodness for her carer and her enabler, vital members of Team Taz. When I think of Team Taz I sometimes envisage a team photo. This would be almost impossible as so many of the team have not met (and are not likely to). But in my head, this team photo exists, curated by a photographer with Taz at the centre and everyone around her. If it takes a village to raise a typical child, we’re talking about a conurbation here (that’s for you SaSa – Geography A Level).
We decorated the tree a few weeks back. Taz, for the first time, carefully took the decorations out of the box, separated the strings to find the loop, found a branch and hung them on the tree. I was astounded. She did this for about half an hour (mainly on the same three branches). I sent a picture of the decoration distribution to auntie SaSa, just to make her squirm. They have stayed like it.
Taz’s progress has brought joy to her team who share with us new words and signs they’ve seen. I realised recently the power of the joy that Taz brings to others, when we encountered a family on a morning out. Taz adores buskers and any sort of live music. She immediately starts dancing and watching her lifts my heart. It’s not just us though, I see passers-by smiling. She made someone smile, not just one person, loads. That’s powerful. The other week we came across a young lad busking, raising money for Children in Need. His mum and dad had helped him set up and Taz danced her way right up to him. She danced for a good 20 minutes while we chatted to the busker’s parents. The following week I received an email from the head teacher of Taz’s school. The family had written in to thank Taz for her dancing and to say their son had raised over £1000 for Children in Need. The email was entitled: ‘Taz, the most joyful girl we’ve ever met’. I cried when I first read that and I get tears in my eyes when I write it now because I realise the impact she is having, and the important contribution she is making to the world.
This post is called Words II. That’s because I wrote a post called words before, in 2018. Our girl has lost all of her language twice now and is well on the way to regaining it twice. If that doesn’t deserve a wow, I don’t know what does.
Life with a Livewire 
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