Not many people know this, but I used to stutter. Strange, I know, especially with how much I love teaching, language, literature, and drama, but it is true. I stuttered. And not just little unnoticeable twitters; I was a full-blown stuttering child.
I don't remember much about actually stuttering, but I do remember the shame and embarrassment that followed. I hated speaking. In fact, there would be moments I would beg God to let me melt into the floor. Reading aloud in school added to my terrors.
This small unknown fact about my childhood could have remained buried under the layers and years I have piled on top, except for Delaney.
Delaney is incredibly verbal- I swear at 9 months she was talking clearly and at 18 months, if not sooner, the child uttered complete sentences. Brilliant sentences. She is the fourth child- but I was seriously impressed with her skills.
Then last week, in a moment, her skills morphed. W's are her downfall. That is painful considering that almost every sentence begins with "Why" or "What's that". I always know what's coming, but invariable every sentence now begins with a looooonnnng process of w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-whhhhhhhy....you get the picture.
I cried. I cringed. I tried (briefly- for a day) making her slow down or correct her. My husband quickly squelched that- that isn't a good thing for her. So now I wait through all those w's and silently send prayer after prayer up, begging my heavenly Father to spare her all that shame and embarrassment. I love that child so much- even envisioning her pain tears me up.