Mute

This is what you get, when you’re not sleeping enough, then go out (to a public blog reading) and catch the same cold your son has had: I’ve got laryngitis. Since yesterday I’m not allowed to talk anymore. And my aching throat is hellish.

Yesterday I spent the whole day waiting for my voice to come back. I hate not being able to talk. I’m acting like a pantomime with a note in my pocket that says, “I’m having laryngitis. I’m not supposed to talk.” And then I do it anyway, croaking and hurting. And I can’t work without my voice. I already had to cancel my singing lessons. But this has a good side too.

Since yesterday I haven’t fighted with my son! Because I can’t talk! Okay, he spent a lot of time with his grandmother and his father. But that’s not the only reason.

This is a trick I learned some time ago: When I ask him, for example, if he wants to drink something, he almost always answers, no. When I just put the cup in his hand,
he drinks. Of course, sometimes it doesn’t work. When I try to convince him to wear a kerchief, he’ll thow a tantrum. When I put it in between his other clothes, he tries to put it on himself. (“Look, I can tie a bow all by myself!”) Wraps it ’round his neck two times, almost chokes himself, and is quite surprised, when it falls off.)

It’s obvious: I’m talking too much. (People who know me have told me so for ages.) Sadly ‘though, my other communicative skills are suffering too. Without my voice, I’m not able to play the piano, or to write. I have to force myself. As if all that were connected.

Even ‘though I’m surely talking too much, I’m hoping for my voice to come back. I miss singing.