Beau-Latin

That is the language Beau speaks. I know, I know it is not nice to make fun of kids with speech problems but he is my kid. And besides, I feel that after enduring one too many of his public tantrums I have earned the right to tease.

I mentioned awhile back that Beau has Apraxia. He was diagnosed at 27 months. But at 30 months he started talking and his speech therapist feels this is no longer an accurate diagnosis but rather he has an articulation or phonological disorder. This is a way less serious, less permanent diagnosis. Basically, speechwise he is age appropriate in what he says but he still lags in understandability.

Beau leaves the first sound off of almost every word he says. Often it is really hard to understand him unless you know the context. Lately though it is getting easier so either he is getting better or I am almost fully fluent in Beau-Latin. Regardless, his speech has become very endearing to me and I think I am going to miss it when he no longer speaks it. Sometimes I make him repeat stuff even though I understand him the first time just because it sounds so cute and I like hearing him say it.

Tonight he had me rolling on the floor.

Ryan and I were watching TV and I heard Beau call from the top of the stairs: Daddeee! Iaper.
And then said some other stuff we couldn't understand.

Ryan and I wait. I hear Beau pad his way down the stairs. He comes and stands beside the couch next to where I am sitting. I can only see his face.
He looks very serious and says: Mommy, my iaper es inky. (holds nose) Oop! Pe ewe.
I say: Oh, then tell daddy.
So Beau comes around the couch and I am surprised to see he has no diaper on and is walking with his pj pants around his ankles.
Both Ryan and I stifle laughter.
Beau says: Daddy, my iaper es inky. Oop!
Ryan can only laugh.
I say: Where is your diaper Beau?
Beau: P-dairs
Me:Is it poopy?
Beau, very serious, says: Des, es inky.

Me, not wanting to believe him and also picturing the potential Hazmat disaster upstairs, says: Let me see your bottom.
Beau obliges, even turns around and moons us, trying to spread cheeks and says: inky!

Thankfully he is clean. Otherwise this would have been Daddy duty.

I say let's go upstairs and get a new diaper and I nearly wet myself watching him waddle up the stairs with his pants around his ankles.

Once upstairs he leads me to the bathroom and points to the trash: Eye hrew my iaper in da ash. Es inky. Eye eed ewe iaper.

Oh.My God: So. Fucking. Cute. I. Could. Die.
(The diaper was just wet; he calls everything poop.)

Okay, but seriously, if you know enough to take off your diaper when it is wet and throw it in the trash why the hell just not go on the potty to begin with?