Charlie uses just one word consistently: car. His favorite activity is bounding down the sidewalk, waving at cars.
This morning after I dropped Summer off at preschool I got an answering machine message from Charlie's Early Intervention speech pathologist. She wanted to prepare me for Charlie's annual evaluation, at which they will determine whether he is still eligible to receive services. Priscilla, the speech path, always talks too long on the machine, gets cut off, and has to call back again to finish. She said Charlie will definitely qualify because he has a hearing loss, so the evaluation (which is completely screwing up my work week) is a formality. Then she said she thought Charlie's expressive language was a little delayed, and his receptive language has been inconsistent, so could I come up with examples of commands he follows? (Answer: none.)
I have no idea why Priscilla felt the need to ambush me with this on my answering machine. She is really a great person and she should know better since she's the head of the speech program at our EI. We hadn't talked about Charlie being delayed at all. Hearing it that way--on my machine, as I was dropping Charlie off with a sitter after dropping off Summer before sneaking in a grocery run before work--really felt like just that: an ambush, like she popped up from behind a car with a hand grenade.
I know that:
1. Saying your kid has a language delay is not a hand grenade
2. Charlie doesn't have a language delay. Summer only had one word at this same age and now she talks nearly incessantly. For some reason lately she begins every sentence with "Eventually..." My brother didn't talk until he was two and grew up to be a professional talker on the radio.
Logic, however, does not apply when it comes to mothers and babies, so I cried. It's just like the eye patch. On one hand, it's great to catch problems early. On the other hand, we wouldn't know about these supposed problems if everyone wasn't looking so hard for them.
Last week, for example, I brought both kids to Charlie's hearing-impaired-baby playgroup because I knew another mom was bringing her big kid and that Summer would enjoy playing with her. Charlie's eye was red; I figured something got in there and he couldn't blink it out because that eye doesn't blink. They tossed him out of group because "weird eye viruses are going around." I ended up following him around the parent discussion room as he bonked his head on every shelf and table leg in the room while Summer and her new friend took advantage of the play-doh in the baby room. Of course, Charlie's eye cleared up just fine.
Will everyone please leave my kid alone? Because he's just fine the way he is, particularly his crooked smile.
I called EI and moved that annual evaluation to August because I don't want to wreck my week for a formality. Then, tonight after dinner, I walked down the sidewalk with Charlie and reminded myself that nothing matters right now but slowing down and breathing and waving at cars.
And we're skipping group tomorrow--we're going to the beach.
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