My oldest son's first word was bubble. He was three years old, and didn't do a damn thing until he could do it perfectly. He took his first step at 8 3/4 months, on Christmas Day, to a video camera. By the end of that day he was running circles around the tree, his poppup, and me.
The first time he rode a two-wheel bike without training wheels (at the ripe old age of two) he rode it down a huge hill and back up again. He does things loud, big, and on his own timeline. So he was three and he didn't talk yet, but he had better balance and gross motor skills then than I have at 39.
In fairness, he did kind of talk. He mumbled some stuff and pointed a lot and I pretty much knew exactly what he was saying. His baby brother was an infant - a freakishly verbal infant - so I had some bandwidth to decipher my first-born's weird little language. We realized much later that his godmother had set out to teach him Dutch, but had failed to mention it to anyone else, so a lot of what we thought was his cute whittle made-up language was really just an English-Baby-Dutch hybrid. Talk about your reckless fusion.
Eventually, this whole non-verbal thing came to a head for him. Little Baby Brother Talks-a-Lot gets the teletubby dolls and thesauruses and stuff; what's a toddlah got to do to get some damn bubbles off the top of the fridge to blow over the neighbor's new fence? Oh, right, grow four feet right now or ASK FOR THEM.
Oh right, YOU CAN'T.
There are few forces in the world more powerful that sibling rivalry, but irritation with your parents inability to "get" you as strong as it is eternal. He stood in front of that fridge, red faced, screaming garbledeegook at me while I tried to decode - do you want milk? popsicles? cheese? crackers? a nap? what, child???
He inhaled, and pointed his stubby little finger up just a bit higher. "I! Want! BUBBLE!" he shrieked! His first sentence! And it was yelling at me! Of course it was.
And now here I am, 13 years later - standing in a different kitchen, pointing up to the shelf where we keep the stash of tea, telling that same child who currently stands 6" over my head and is growing that I want a teabag. Of course I am.
Everything comes back around, parents - every little thing.