Some people believe that certain words are intrinsically beautiful. This may be true in isolation from their meaning: “cellar door” is often cited as being an example of a phrase in which the sound of the words is far more beautiful than the mundane reality they convey. A word may also pleasingly match its meaning to its sound; every onomatopoeia is an example of this, but also any word or phrase that is selected to add symbolism to its context. Wikipedia gives examples including euphony and cacophony, and even suggests that some words can be inherently funny.
It’s also said that certain entire languages are more beautiful than others: Italian is flowing, melodious and passionate, while German is staccato and a little bit terrifying.
Anybody can suggest their own list of pleasing words and we can’t argue with their choice, because beauty is in the ear of the beholder. But I can add my own proposal to the list, and I’m prepared to back up my choice with evidence. My proposal for the loveliest word in the English language is toddler.
Toddler
(noun) A person who toddles, especially a young child learning to walk.
With its tee and dees, and especially with the awkward dee-to-ell transition, the word stumbles uncertainly; sometimes it falls over, but it picks itself back up cheerfully and just carries on.
But the word’s loveliness is primarily due to its emotional association. “Toddler” represents infinite possibility. It is complex distilled emotion. Every slightly funny noise is the height of comedy; every unwanted spoonful of food or early bedtime, a bleak tragedy. Delighted to distraught in a flash, for no discernible reason. A surprising sound or sudden drop can be hilarious; a tickle can be devastating.
A toddler is always busy doing something and it would be unfair to call this aimless when it is clearly so purposeful. It is the earnest pursuit of unknowable goals: a crayon scribble, a babbled conversation, a re-ordering of toys so that they are perfectly aligned according to plan. It is daily growth and adventure. It is fierce independence, offset by a desire for frequent reassurance. It is unbreakable ritual and habit, with sporadic moments of joyous mayhem. A toddler’s activity can only be driven by imitation, intuition and imagination, and as such is an insight into a different dimension of thinking, uninhibited by negativity or even reality.
By contrast “baby” is a diminutive, a put-down, an expression of helplessness and vulnerability. Yes, a baby has potential, but it is defined by its lack of personality, its utter dependence on others. A baby can be happy or sad, but never cheeky, witty or insolent. “Baby”, as an insult, suggests immaturity and helplessness. “Toddler” is rarely used in this way (except in one specific case).
To toddle is to move uncertainly with uneven steps. Moreover, it is to make a big deal about going nowhere in particular. What a luxury that is, to fill one’s day with passion, exploration and intrigue, and to return at last to a mother’s embrace.
Now some will tell me that I am being smug, and that the reality of many toddlers is not that they are delightful, adventurous little wonders, but rather that they are noisy, messy, and thoroughly uncooperative. That is, after all, the rare case where an adult is occasionally compared to a toddler: in the event of unreasonable, intractable petulance. Our own may be no better than most, or perhaps we haven’t yet reached the nadir of the Terrible Twos. But the reaction of strangers to our toddler is overwhelmingly positive. This suggests to me that most people do look past the occasional grumpy face or shout of annoyance, and see instead a perfect reflection of innocence, wonderment and joy.