We were walking into preschool when Lilah exclaimed, “Mommy, that burt is beautiful.”
“What’s a burt?” The speech therapist graduated Lilah again last month, telling me she was meeting all the benchmarks for articulation. It may well be that she’s meeting the minimum requirements for her age. She’s also far exceeding all expectations for vocabulary, creating a disconnect between her vocabulary and her articulation.
“A burt. You know, that white thing with some brown.” That cleared matters up.
“Honey, I really don’t know what a burt is. Can you use another word?”
“Yes. You told me it was called a burt.”
“No, a burt.”
“No,” she said, remaining remarkably patient with me. “A burt. Like there in the reflection in the window.” I looked at the interior window to which she was pointing. There was a faint reflection of a tree. I wouldn’t have seen most trees, but because this was a birch, it was…
“Oh! You mean a birch!”
“Yes. That burt is beautiful.”