Speech Impediment

For the longest time (read: for her whole life), AirBear has been unable to pronounce certain vowel sounds. The 'back-of-the-throat' sounds have particularly had her a little tangled. In particular the 'c', 'k' and 'g' sounds.

She has been very aware of this impediment and has been really inventive in figuring out ways around her flaw. For instance, while playing with her one afternoon, I placed my head on her tummy and pretended to fall asleep. Said she, "Ha, ha, Mommy! I'm your tushion!"

"My tushion?" I asked. "What's a tushion?"

" TUSHION," she repeated slowly, "not tushion!"

I teased her a bit more. "I've never had a tushion before," I said. 

She rolled her eyes at me. "I'm your PILLOW!" solved the need for the use of a 'c' sound.

Recently (read: Last week), my little AirBear suddenly clicked the back of the tongue manipulation required for the sounds of 'ka' and 'ga'. We were so excited! She was a picture too! Completely satisfied with her accomplishment, spending hours just "ka-ka-ka"-ing, she knew that a huge milestone had been reached!

Which is why the next event completely threw me off guard.

Yesterday, while pressing through the throngs of weekend shoppers at Canal Walk, AirBear seated in the trolley, commenting on everything, she let slip this little gem.

It was relatively quiet when she announced at volume that, "I really hate hate hate bastards!"

I tripped, coughed, choked, looked around nervously and hoped in vain that someone else's four-year old had said it.

"Excuse me?" I managed.

"I said," she took a deep breath, "I hate hate hate bastards."

"Er."

Some passers by had slowed down and were trying to appear inconspicuous hovering around my trolley.

"What's a ... a ... what's that?" I inquired, not wanting to reinforce anything that might stick.

"Mom," she looked disappointed. "You know what a bastard is."

A little old lady on my port-side made the sign of the cross.

"I'm not sure I do," I said. "And I don't know why you hate, er, them."

"Because they are so heavy," she looked at me in an I've-made-my-point-and-I'm getting-tired-of-this-conversation kind of way.

"I don't understand," I said. "How are bastards heavy?"

"To carry, Mom," she was clearly getting annoyed at her mother's lack of grasp. "That's why a trolley is much much better."

I got it.

"AirBear," I said after a while of uninterrupted silence, "Do you think you could say 'BAS-KET'?"