Voices

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my 2 1/2 year old daughter Zoe had a potential medical issue. Turns out she has nodules on her vocal cords, a very benign problem that results in a raspy voice. They don't do surgery on kids, and the worst case scenario is that she'll have...a raspy voice. Which she already does. Nonetheless, the ENT recommended some voice therapy.

(As an aside, most adults with vocal cord nodules are prescribed vocal rest. For, say, two months. I was having a lot of fun imagining this. "Zoe, we love you, but for the next two months, you may not talk.")

So we have been dutifully attending our voice therapy sessions. They are ridiculous.

Therapist: "Zoe, can you make the owl sound? Hooo...Hooo..."

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no"

Therapist: "Zoe, look, here's a baby. Can you hum to the baby? She's sad."

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no." Takes baby and proceeds to "feed" her. Opens play bottle, pretends to pour something in, puts top back on, feeds her some more. All silently.

And so on.

So the therapist and I have a lovely conversation about how Zoe really shouldn't scream. And how we need to encourage her to talk in a sing-song, pleasant voice. Gently. So as not to strain her vocal cords. I'm looking at this very competent, sincere, childless 24 year old therapist, and I can't decide if I want to burst into hysterical laughter or sob. My inner sarcastic voice wants to say, sweetly and in a sing-song voice, "Oh, you're right. We've been encouraging her to screech and yell when she doesn't get her way, but since it's so bad for her vocal cords, maybe we should consider asking her to speak gently." For the love.

But the therapist and I speak in gentle, sing-song voices for the whole painful 45 minute session, so as to model this new, excellent way of speaking.

Every once in a while, we address Zoe.

Therapist: " Zoe, what sound does the bee make? Bzzzzz....Bzzzzz... Can you do that?"

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no." Resumes feeding baby.


We get in the car to go home. I mention to Zoe that we need to run a quick errand on the way. She announces, defiantly, but in a gentle, sing-song voice: "No, I don't want to, Mommy."

And her vocal cords breathe a sigh of relief.