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Monday 16 August 2010

The Girl doesn't stop talking!

The Girl doesn’t stop talking. I really mean that. She’s six and from the moment she sidles into our bedroom in the morning and watches for the slightest eyelid flicker, to when she’s put to bed at night, she doesn’t stop talking. It’s a long stream of chatty fizzy high on life blither. What’s a wagina mummy? When you die what happens? Why is the sky? Is that lady fat or pregnant? Why should I shhh? But mummy I don’t want to go to sleep I’m not even a little bit zzzzzzzzzz . . . . .

Her chattering has become more intense recently and I think it’s because I’ve been running back and forth to see my mother, and working a lot. And in The Girl’s little group of friends at school, I’m the only mother who works.

Is that it? I asked her once if she minded that I worked and she said: But you don’t work mummy. You sit at home and write. That’s me told. But I do go into the school and take part in cookery lessons. I show up to assemblies. My involvement with the school isn’t as intense as some other parents but I am involved (she says defensively).

I’ve googled to find out what to do about a chatty child and on the US sites, the possibility of Autism and Aspergers comes up (hello medicalisation) and on the UK sites, the advice ranges from a shrug to gin and earplugs.

We all know at least one adult who suffers from verbal diarrhoea – the one whose conversation consists of a never-ending monologue of their day. If you do try to get a word in edgeways to say: Hey I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable disease, Verbal Diarrhoea will listen for 2.3 seconds until you pause for breath, and then dive back in with: Oh I know just how you feel. When I was diagnosed with flu I thought I was going to die too – I felt so bad and I was in bed didn’t eat anything but I did drink this lemon drink have you tried it very low in calories oh and it was so funny . . .

I have this theory that people who never listen and speak as though if they stop speaking they will literally stop existing, are those who were never listened to as children. Perhaps they were dismissed or half listened to. I think of this a lot with The Girl. I know I’ve been guilty of half-listening sometimes. So I’m trying to spend big lumps of time with her – just her and me. When she has a bath I sit with her, cutting my toenails. Gross I know but bless her she doesn’t mind. Then we have a girlie pedicure which consists of me wincing while she chooses toenail polish in Slaaaag Red and then manages to paint her entire foot and the carpet in it. And I remind her about not interrupting and praise her when she doesn’t interrupt.

Any ideas?

4 comments:

Milly said...

Too much caffeine? Every time I have a latte, I can't seem to shut up... but maybe that's just me. Can't imagine a 6-y-o with a latte but I also just read about 7 y-o with breasts so maybe things really are moving faster than they did way back when I was a kid...

Angela Furlong said...

In a previous (and rather painful) life, I was nanny to 4 children and wow, could they talk! The worst was 8yo Eliza who sounds a bit like your little one... seriously, she even talked in her sleep, it was horrendously tedious to say the least!

Do I have any answers? The gin and earplugs theory is sage advice! I eventually managed to coerce Eliza into starting a journal of her thoughts... this actually worked quite well as it would distract her and shut her up for ten minute intervals... but then we would have to endure the 'recital' of her journal entries... this would have been far more enjoyable had I been drinking gin at the time!

So sadly I can only commiserate with you rather than help you... little girls like to chat... and chat... and chat. I'm pretty sure the use of electrical tape across the mouth would be frowned upon so all I can say is "GOOD LUCK".

Angela :)

Jane said...

C - I dread The Girl with added coffee. Angela - the journal idea is brilliant. Think I may suggest that.

Unknown said...

Your little girl is just like that, and it doesn't matter if you tune out. She knows you love her. I too have a big gap - 21, 18 and 9 yr old boy. Adorable but a complete handful. Loving your blog.