“How old is your baby?” a man in the shop asked my mum.
“22 months,” mum replied.
“Ahhh, my granddaughter’s 22 weeks – snap!”
I wanted to tell him that I’m actually a toddler, not a baby with lots of hair, but I haven’t mastered this talking thing yet. I might wear clothes meant for a 6-month-old and stand just 70cm tall, but you should see me move – not only am I an expert at stomping in the snow, but I’ve also taken up running and climbing.
I’ve been cutting my canines and it’s really put me off my food. To be clear, I haven’t been chopping up dogs, I’m talking about my teeth. It’s given me a lot to howl about, but now the tips are through I’m starting to get my appetite back. My favourite foods are strawberries, hummus and the lions in my Noah’s Ark. I’ve almost completely bitten the head off one of them.
My bestest toy is my baby doll – I haven’t tried to bite her once. I picked up the BSL sign for baby the first time it was shown to me – my speech and language therapist says I’m sharp as a dart.
I’ve had some more tests which confirm that while I can hear high noises at normal levels, I can’t hear the lowest noises unless they’re at least 70 decibels – that’s the same volume as a hoover, a hairdryer or an excitable sheep.
To make matters more complicated, my Auditory Neuropathy means everything I hear is distorted, so even when my aids make everything louder, it doesn’t necessarily mean sounds are clear enough for me to master speech.
I’ve never liked wearing the aids – they’re so clunky I just want to throw them across the room, but Mum’s so desperate to know if they actually make a difference that she’s resorted to parcel taping them to my head! I told her she better not share any photographic evidence of this farce ….