My Fumbling Hands-A Poem About Learning Sign Language

 

My fumbling hands are going to be the death of me.

You see I need them to communicate with my baby.

He uses sign language to say what you and I speak.

So I have to learn it and learn it quick.

 

With my fumbling hands going to and fro

Not sure which way to go

I get so confused at times

So much so that I have to stop and rewind

 

He seems to catch on so fast

He learns it once and it is there to last.

I forget one sign to the next

I hope there is not going to be a test.

 

Sometimes he looks at me like I am a dummy

Then I realize that was not the sign for shoe but mommy

He laughs at my mistake

But then shows me which sign to make

 

My fumbling hands are going to be the death of me

Or maybe the death of the whole family

We are learning it for his sake

But I have to admit that I would much rather play with a rake

 

Then have to learn all of the little signs

 Which one for green?  Is that for bee hive?

I know someday it will come with such ease

But until then my fumbling hands are going to be the death of me.