The operation left the Bean's throat so raw and sore that he refused to talk. It was easier for him to walk around with cheeks filled with saliva and pantomiming everything than it was to open his mouth. I could hardly blame him. But the trouble was that because he was only 3 1/2, he didn't know how to properly pantomime. Everything was a series of grunts, either long or short depending on the severity of the request.
“Ugh, ugh ugh. Uhhhh ugh uh uh.”
Yet this was the only way in which he would communicate.
Through all of this, there was a couple of times where I'd been quite impressed with myself because I'd been able to understand what he was trying to stay. This went beyond requests to get his Lambie or to put Cars on (again). Like the night he wanted me to sleep in his room. I have no clue how we did it, but we managed to have a full conversation based on me asking the right questions and him grunting in response.
There are not many people that I could do this with. I’ve never been very good at charades.