Lost in interpretation

I was 4 months old.
I reached for a bright pink ball kept near my pillow.
It was too far away, and my grasp failed.
My mom saw my extended hand, and she gave it meaning
She turned my personal monologue into a dialogue
O you want this?, said she, as she leaned forward to take the pink ball and put it in my hand.
Since then it has been happening, happening
People interpreting me. Telling what the sounds and moves i make, mean.
I have learnt the rules. learn to shape coherent responses and dialogue.
And they inturn have given me dolls, pals, golden medals, kisses and poetry
But have taken away, my own personal meanings for sounds and moves and very being itself.
Poorer, growing poorer, as my vocabulary increases..