I hang on every word that you don't say. And you don't say a lot. You get on your imaginary cell phone and each time that the first syllable comes out of your pint-sized lips, I hope to the heavens that it will be strung along with other syllables that form an actual word, and yet to this day all I've heard are "A-da, A-da", "B-da, B-da, B-da" or "Cawwwwww".
You seem to understand basic commands like "Give Grandpa a Kiss" or "Gimme 5!" and my favorite "Please throw this away in the garbage". Yet you don't show any volition to repeat any of these words. So far, the only thing you're interested in repeating is the beastly "RAWR!" that comes from a dinosaur or tiger. I'm at a loss and the pediatrician is too. So she utters actual words that I hang on to even more than your non-existent ones: "Speech therapy" Oh my!
I never would have thought that my son would need speech therapy, just as I never in my life thought I could be a candidate for gestational diabetes. At that moment, I mentally break down for a few minutes while outwardly keeping my composure (I'm good at doing that). My "mommy-moment" brain now consists of tiring thoughts of juggling my prenatal appointments, gestational diabetes appointments, Diego's pediatric appointments, and now his speech therapy appointments while working a 9-5 job, picking up Diego from daycare, putting a hot home-cooked meal on the table every night, and keeping the house clean. I'm about to lose it, and then I snap back to reality when I get an imaginary call from my son's imaginary phone and he places it to my ear...
"Hello? Yes, I'm here."