This morning, my six-year-old son, Max, was once again communicating in “Pizza,” his self-made language. Essentially, he just says the word “pizza” repeatedly, but with various tones and volumes. When he’s asking something, he raises the pitch at the end. When he’s feeling down, he lowers his voice dramatically, and when he’s upset, he speeds up the word, all while maintaining a comically high pitch. To him, this is absolutely hilarious.
For me? Not so much.
It was 8 AM on a Saturday, and I had just rolled out of bed. I wasn’t ready to engage with Max in his pizza dialect. He was bouncing around in his superhero pajamas, eyes gleaming with excitement, tugging on my pants, and pointing at something atop the fridge—most likely the candy stash—while chanting “pizza” relentlessly.
“Max,” I said, trying to keep my patience intact, “I’m really not in the mood for this. Just tell me what you want. In English, please.”
“Pizza,” he replied cheerfully.
“Great,” I said. “Then you get nothing.”
But he persisted, pulling harder on my pants and repeating that ridiculous word, as if I would somehow decipher his intentions. I didn’t want to engage in this nonsense. The kid is articulate; he can express his thoughts and feelings clearly when he chooses to. As someone who values effective communication, I want my kids to articulate their needs and frustrations. I can’t see how speaking in Pizza helps him grow intellectually.
What really baffles me is that, despite his affinity for the word “pizza,” he won’t actually eat one. Instead, his diet consists mostly of ramen noodles, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, and macaroni and cheese. He does enjoy Lucky Charms, but only the marshmallows, so I can’t fully consider that part of a balanced diet.
I have no clue where he even got this pizza language from. I just know it drives me up the wall, and I often wonder how long this phase will last. Will he be that kid in high school who answers “What’s the capital of New Mexico?” with “Pizza”? Will he think he’s being funny while actually being annoying?
Looking down at him, standing there in the kitchen with that mischievous grin, I felt a mix of nostalgia and dread. He looked so much like I did at his age—stocky, blue-eyed, and sporting an obnoxious grin. But more than that, I saw in him the same quirks and antics I had when trying to be funny.
I crouched down, made eye contact, and said, “Max, I don’t want to hear that word again today. Just tell me what you want in English, and I promise I will get it for you. You could ask for cookies, and I’d let you have them all. Just please, communicate clearly this time. Got it?”
“Pizza,” he replied, a sly smile spreading across his face, as if to say, “I don’t care about your offer; I’m having too much fun!”
I sent him to his room. In that moment, I questioned whether speaking in Pizza was worthy of punishment. Was I overstepping my role as a father? I recalled my own experiences, being teased for being quirky, and wondered if he was destined to follow in my footsteps. Would sending him to his room change the quirky genes I clearly passed down to him?
This article was originally published on June 12, 2012. For more insights on parenting and similar experiences, check out our post on intracervicalinsemination.com.
In conclusion, parenting can be a whirlwind of challenges and surprising moments. Embracing our children’s quirks, even when they drive us nuts, is part of the adventure. It’s important to foster their ability to express themselves, even if it means occasionally decoding a language of their own invention. If you’re curious about home insemination and related topics, visit Make A Mom and learn more. For a thorough understanding of fertility treatments, UCSF offers excellent resources.