Life is hectic. Shit is about to get real in the next chapter. Please enjoy.
Beth frowned in disappointment as she set down the next child development textbook on the coffee table. The tabletop was now crowded with a combination of dusty textbooks and parenting manuals that had been gradually plundered from department stores along with the bridal magazines. At least those glossy mags now lay in the fireplace, slowly turning to ash.
Her weary eyes glanced out of the kitchen window, noticing that the sun was noticeably lower than it had been when the rest of their group had left on the run. It must have been hours – at least five hours. Daryl was never gone for more than three.
She could feel her stomach turn at the prospect of anything happening to Daryl, her family, or to Grace, who had undoubtedly become a beloved member of their group. She had fit in like a puzzle piece, offering to go on runs, asking for weapons training, babysitting Sophia when Beth felt as though her head was about to explode. Beth knew that she would miss Grace if anything were to happen.
She shook her head to clear the dark thoughts. Positive thinking - that was what she needed. Without keeping her chin up, the feelings of anxiety and stress would only return and threaten to overwhelm her. She had fought for so long to keep the darkness that had overcome her on the farm at bay, but occasionally she could smell the scent of unease in the air and was forced to concentrate all of her energy on not dwelling on the little upsets. She was a different from the naïve girl on the farm. She was a woman, now. A mother, nonetheless. She returned her focus upon the selection of developmental books in front of her, as a whole different type of anxiety began to rise up inside of her.
"A typically developing child will produce their first meaningful word between the ages of 12 and 18 months. A failure to develop single word use by this age may be indicative of a language delay or pervasive developmental disorder, and should be referred to a pediatrician for consultation as soon as possible."
She frowned again, before sliding the book off of her lap and secretly enjoying the dull thud it emitted as it hit the hardwood, cracking its spine. What the hell did these so-called professors and doctors know, anyway? It was a fair bet that most of these world-renowned authors were currently stumbling around at a far off location, searching for victims to devour. Nothing was normal anymore. Nothing was set in stone.
Sophia was beautiful, healthy and perfect, but Beth was well aware that she still hadn't said anything. And surely she should be saying something by this stage. Sure, she wasn't completely outside of the age bracket for 'typical' development. But what did 'typical' even mean nowadays? Was it typical for children to be raised in a barren apocalyptic wasteland? Perhaps Sophia's first words would be something along the lines of "walker" or "crossbow", since those were certainly a few of the most dominant words used in the household.
Beth stood, stretching out the ache in her legs, and shuffled over to the playpen they had set up for Sophia. The baby girl sat amongst the cushions and blankets, playing with a wind-up doll and grinning down at it until Beth crouched before her to attract her attention.
"Hey, Sophia. Can you say Mama?" Beth's eyes were wide in anticipation, perhaps too wide. Sophia simply stared nonplussed into her mother's face.
"Come on. You can do it. Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma. Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!"
Still nothing.
"Please? If you say a real word, I'll sing you to sleep in my arms every night for a week!" She paused to glance towards the front door, feeling ridiculous for attempting to bargain with a baby.
She recognized the expression on her daughters face as stubbornness, and was forced to consider the alternative possibility that her daughter was a child prodigy with the vocabulary of an Oxford graduate, however remained stoically silent in a vain attempt to thwart the adults in the house.
She abandoned her effort. She could always come back to badgering her daughter for words at a later time. It's not as though there were other parents here to judge her for not 'stimulating' her child's brain enough. Sophia was plenty stimulated. She was just… a perfectionist.
Beth battled to quiet the questions that filled her head. The last thing they needed was for there to be something wrong with their daughter. Something that required psychologists or therapists to fix. Sure, Daryl had reassured Beth that he had been a late talker, although he was able to attribute that directly to his parental neglect. Sophia was certainly not neglected. If anything, they paid her too much attention.
Beth curled back up in her spot on the couch, angled so that she could see through the front door in case her family returned.
They had to be okay. Of course they would be.