I knew I was in trouble when I found myself taking notes while watching Greek episodes of Peppa Pig. While my then three-year-old son sat enthralled by the lovable pig family’s antics, I was having a crash course in toddler Greek.

My Greek isn’t bad – better than ‘kitchen Greek’, though not quite good enough to fool an Athens cab driver. We spoke Greek at home, I dutifully went to Greek school, I studied first year Greek at university and have lived and travelled extensively in Greece. But passing on my mother tongue to my son has proved more challenging than I imagined, and my language deficiencies are only part of the story.

We don’t have a big Greek family, with grandparents on tap to engage him in the language. If I wanted my son to be bilingual it was up to me.
It was easy when he was a baby. I instinctively spoke to my newborn in the language of love and nurture that my mother had spoken to me. It was like my inner Greek mother had been awakened. It felt natural when his first words were Greek – mama was so much more familiar and heart-warming than ‘mummy’. I beamed when he sang along (at two-and-a-half) to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in English and Greek.

I bluffed my way through simple picture books, translating on the run. I joined a Greek playgroup (where ironically the mothers and teachers spoke English between them). I stocked up on Greek kids books, music, DVDs and apps and scoured YouTube.

But as my son’s Greek language skills advanced, the gaps in my Greek vocabulary were increasingly exposed. The language in Greek kids books was surprisingly unfamiliar and complex. I stumbled over the railway terminology of Thomas the Tank Engine and the construction jargon in Bob the Builder. Certain vehicles, fruit and vegetables, animal species and sea creatures drew blanks.

Simple, everyday terms continue to elude me because, like most bilingual people, I have acquired language in different domains of my life. Greek at home, English at school and work. I always knew there were spheres in which there were words I simply didn’t know or words and concepts for which there was no Greek equivalent – I just didn’t expect to have trouble conducting toddler-level conversation.

Speaking Greek to your child is a major commitment that requires consistency and dedication.

When my son first started talking, I had to resist the urge to make his life easier by using shorter English words. Car vs autokinito? Did he really need to say kamilopardali when I had gotten to 40 without knowing the Greek word for camel? I baulked at seeing therizoalonistiki mixani in a baby book, though admittedly ‘combine harvester’ doesn’t roll off a two-year old tongue, either. But as a wise German-Greek friend insisted, I wasn’t teaching him Greek, I was speaking to him in Greek, so I couldn’t just pick and choose which words to speak in which language.

(Ironically, I’ve often had to prompt my father to speak to him in Greek – and stop using the Gringlish slang (caro, friza) we grew up with.)

My boy started his life talking Greek, but by three his English was accelerating at a far greater rate. By the time he turned four last December, English had become his default language.

Now I speak to him in Greek and he responds predominantly in English. Other times the Greek comes first or, like me, he has already worked out his own context for each language. I find myself slipping into English and fight the temptation to switch altogether. It’s easy to see why many parents give up at this stage.

My husband was originally concerned that speaking to him in Greek might delay his language or confuse him. He didn’t want our son to be one of those kids who struggled because they couldn’t speak English when they got to school (and promptly dropped Greek to fit in).

But that was never going to happen in our blended household, where his father and older brothers speak to him in English and childcare, television and the wider Anglophone world have taken care of the rest.

I was more concerned about my son not bonding with his brothers, but they’ve managed to break through the language barriers and even learn a bit of Greek.

We’re now accustomed to having two languages spoken at home. It helps that my husband understands more Greek than he speaks, so he isn’t excluded from conversations, as happens with many mixed marriages. He’s speaking it more often lately, too, prompted by our son.

There are times I wonder if I am doing my child a disservice with my less-than-perfect Greek. I think of the migrants who spoke to their children in broken English and are now doing the same thing as grandparents. Shouldn’t he see me at my most articulate, speaking confidently and playing with language?

Am I missing out on natural conversations with my son by persisting with my didactic exchanges?

For now, I am persevering because I see that he is receptive and also fascinated by the duality. “Is Bob (the Builder) Greek or English?” he asked me a while ago. “He’s like you,” I answered, “he can speak both.”

After a period of Greek silence, he is now showing more interest in the language and understands we are both on a learning curve. “What’s x in Greek?” he regularly asks. When I hesitate, he conspiratorially offers his amusing solution – which is to just say the English word with a funny Greek accent. At a café last week he pointed to the waiter he had overheard and excitedly said “he speaks Greek like me”.

As I drop my son off to Greek kindergarten on Saturday mornings, I wonder how sustainable my efforts are, especially when most second and third generation Greeks speak English to each other and their kids.

I don’t know how long he will keep it up and I don’t realistically expect him to be proficient. Whereas I needed to speak Greek to communicate with my parents, he knows I speak English so there is no motivating need. And who will he speak Greek to when the older generation has passed?

This year, I hope to take him to Greece, where immersion in the language will give him some context. I’ve read that learning a language as a child leaves you with an emotional response to it. So while he may never be fluent, I hope to at least give my son a linguistic and emotional connection to his heritage and culture.

In the meantime, I will keep speaking Greek and taking him to Greek school. I get a thrill when he comes home singing in Greek – and maybe he will teach me a word or two.