You know, I’ve always wanted to go on a silent retreat. And this year, I had my chance. But I muffed it. Apparently my psyche (or spirit) doesn’t need silent retreats when large with child.
So now, irony of ironies, I’m entering my third day of a laryngitis-induced Silent Retreat.
Unfortunately, I’m the only one who is silent.
It’s, um, not turning out to be the spiritually enhancing and psyche freeing experience I’d always envisioned.
It is, however, honing the subtleties of my whistling capabilities. I’m regretting not having previously assigned each member of my family a unique whistle. I’d always thought that one generic family whistle would be adequate. Captain von Trapp really had something going there that I’d previously missed.
The girls are responding well to my whistles, gestures, and whispers. Amelie has spent much of her time whispering as well. Which is awfully developmentally cute. Both of them seem to catch on quickly to what I’m trying to communicate, and don’t seem put out by a terrible honky voice if it’s used with a smile.
Devo and I, on the other hand, are having a proleptic experience of our future together in old age. He can’t hear because of his cold, and I can’t speak clearly because of mine, so most of our communiques look like this:
Me :: whisperwhisperwhisperwhispergesturewhisper
Him :: huh?
Me :: WHISPERWHISPERWHISPERGESTUREWHISPER
Him :: you want me to what?
And then I throw up my hands in disgust at myself for trying, once again, to communicate something esoteric in such a time as this. Stick to the facts, Leilani. Point to diaper, point to nose, grimace.
(Haha, I really do keep seeing us in a nursing home having very similar conversations. Maybe we should start ASL now.)
To add insult to injury, I caught the kids’ pink eye. So now my eye is very…pink. But luckily not too itchy. I’m just ashamed to go out in public now. Not that I could talk to anybody.