There's an oxymoron or something going on. James - beautiful, hilarious, snugglicious James who since getting over his copious illnesses could warm the cockles of the Snow Queen with his winsome ways, is becoming more and more frustrated. He has invented his own version of sign language, which works very well, but his sound articulation is growing at a snail's pace, and he is feeling it more and more. His brain is really going like the clappers at the moment - I've consciously stepped up the level of book reading we're doing (so he's now reading "the wheels on the bus", "The very Hungry caterpillar" - far more complex books) but he cannot articulate himself or his desires. Cue a lot of crying and general fed upness.
So the sensible, majority part of me is saying to itself "Learn to speak, my lovely" but there's another part, much weaker and somewhat pathetic, yet understandable voice which already feels him, drifting away from gorgeous, sweet, milky babyhood. When he has words, he will be a toddler, not a baby. At the moment, he is still, definably a baby. Sniff. I don't want that baby to go away! he's so beautiful.
There's that unique almost perfect expression of human emotion you receive from someone who can't speak but who can, and does, make expressive sound which absolutely describes their mood. Funny things are amazingly funny; sad things are crushing. Having access to someone who you adore, who also represents raw humanity in all its vulnerable forms (including the stupid ones, where you hit your sister) is an intense pleasure. the strength of the emotions are almost drug like. When James begins to truly appropriate words, that intense pleasure will morph in to something else.