Okay, hi. Toddler speech development is currently trying to murder me in cold blood, and I’m writing this from the floor of my living room in Austin, Texas, surrounded by Duplo carnage and a suspiciously sticky substance I’m scared to identify.
My son, Leo—22 months old as of last week—went from saying literally four words at 18 months to suddenly narrating his entire goddamn life like a tiny drunk sportscaster. “Truck! Big truck! Red truck go vroom! Dog dog dog dog dog—HI DOG!” Sir, we are inside. There is no dog. There is only Zuul, apparently.
I need you to know I was not chill about this. At all.
I was the mom refreshing the CDC milestone page daily, lying to myself that I was “just checking,” while secretly spiraling because some random kid on my mom Facebook group said their 15-month-old was reciting Shakespeare. Meanwhile Leo’s entire vocabulary was “mama,” “dada,” “ball,” and “uh-oh” (which he used for everything from dropped Cheerios to existential despair.
I’d sit there in the pediatrician’s office, pretending to be normal, while internally screaming HE SHOULD HAVE 20 WORDS WHY DOES HE ONLY HAVE FOUR IS HE BROKEN AM I BROKEN ARE WE BOTH BROKEN. The doctor—bless her—would say, “He’s fine, he understands everything, he’ll talk when he’s ready.” And I’d nod like yeah totally, then go home and google “toddler not talking Einstein” at 3 a.m. for the 400th time.
When Toddler Speech Development Made Me Lose My Actual Mind
Here’s the thing nobody says out loud: comparison is a thief, but also… sometimes the worry is valid and you feel insane for feeling it.
I kept a note in my phone titled “Leo words (pls god)” and every new sound got a timestamp like I was tracking a rare bird species. October 3rd: “nana” for banana. October 17th: “buh-buh” for bubbles. November 2nd: clear as day, “I stuck.” (He was, in fact, stuck between the couch cushions. Iconic.)
I read to him religiously. Narrated everything like a deranged tour guide. “Mommy is opening the refrigerator! Look, yogurt! Yogurt is white and cold and mommy’s about to eat it in shame at 2 p.m.!” Turned off Ms. Rachel for a month because guiltily turned her back on because oh my god the child needs INPUT.
Then one random Tuesday he looked at me, pointed to my coffee, and said “hot mama juice.” I almost dropped dead. Hot. Mama. Juice. Three words. Sentence. My kid invented caffeine worship.
The Language Explosion Is Real (And Loud)
After that? Total chaos.
Suddenly every object required a 12-word description. Every emotion required immediate commentary. “Moon! Big moon! Night night moon! Bye moon! Hi moon again!” Bro, the moon didn’t leave. It’s been there for billions of years.
He started singing the cleanup song wrong on purpose—“clean up clean up everybody poop now”—and I have never been prouder or more horrified.
We hit 200+ words in like three weeks. I stopped counting. My notes app is now just videos of him yelling “EXCAVATOR!!!” at construction sites from the backseat like a tiny meth-addicted Bob the Builder.
What Actually Helped (My Unfiltered List)
- Reading the same damn books 800 times (current hits: Little Blue Truck, Brown Bear, anything with animals that make noise)
- Narrating everything, yes even when you feel stupid
- Zero pressure conversations—just responding to whatever gibberish he threw at me like it was genius
- Cutting way back on screen time (he got way more verbal when we ditched it cold turkey for a bit)
- Singing, badly and constantly
- Not panicking out loud (I saved that for the group chat)
Also therapy helped? We did early intervention evaluation at 19 months just to be safe. Zero concerns. The evaluator literally said, “This kid is plotting world domination, he just doesn’t need words yet.” Valid.
Here’s the link to CDC milestones if you’re spiraling like I was: https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/actearly/milestones/index.html
And ASHA’s late talker info because it saved my sanity: https://www.asha.org/public/speech/development/late/
Anyway, We’re Fine (Today)
Some days he still says “I love you mama” completely unprompted and I have to hide in the pantry to cry into a bag of marshmallows.
Other days he screams “NO NO NO NO NO” for 45 minutes because his sock has a wrinkle. This is toddler speech development. Zero to a hundred, silence to screaming poetry, terror to total pride. If you’re in the thick of it right now—worrying, counting words, feeling like you’re failing—just know you’re not alone. And also know that one day your kid will probably call coffee “hot mama juice” and it will heal something you didn’t know was broken.
