Kidy
There is something you want, little one, and you know exactly what it is. The wanting is clear as glass inside you. But when you send the word out, it comes out wobbly, and the grown-up tilts their head and says, what was that? You try again. Another tilt. Something hot prickles behind your eyes, and you stop wanting to say anything at all.
Growy sits down next to you and puts one paw, very gently, on your chest. 'Do you know what lives in there? A nest. A whole nest of word-birds. Some of them already fly straight as arrows. Some fly wobbly, looping through the air. And some are still sitting in the nest, growing their feathers. Growing feathers takes exactly as long as it takes. Look, you can see them.' And when you speak, you CAN: a little glowing bird flutters out of your chest and loops off through the room.
'Watch me,' says Growy, and tries to ask for a snack. Out of Growy's chest flies the strangest bird you have ever seen, completely scrambled, looping twice and landing upside down in your lap. You cup your hands around it, and you feel what Growy meant, snack, clear as anything. 'You caught it!' Growy beams. 'Upside down and everything, and you still caught it!'
'That is the whole secret,' Growy says. 'A word does not have to fly out perfect. It only needs somebody to catch it. And while a bird is still growing its feathers, you have other messengers: your finger can point, your hands can show, and you can take somebody by the hand and bring them to the thing. Those are not lesser birds. They fly too.'
You try the wobbly word once more, and this time the grown-up cups both hands and catches it, loops and all, and the thing you wanted arrives. The nest in your chest feels warm. 'So, little one,' Growy asks, 'did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Growy. 'Send ONE message to somebody who loves you: a word, a point, or a hand-pull. Whichever bird is ready.' See you tomorrow, little one.