Monday, August 6, 2012

A Thousand Tiny Bombshells

Stow had his first speech appointment today. In usual fashion, he was happy, curious, and engaged with the therapist who visited our home. He pointed and grunted and squealed and vocalized some vowels--pretty much his entire repertoire of communication.

Toward the end of the session, against my better judgment, I asked, "So where does his current communication fall? What age is it comparable to?"

"Six months," the therapist responded.

Six months.

Stow's fourteen months. Though you might not know it. He doesn't really talk. He doesn't really walk. The therapists tell me it doesn't mean he's on the autism spectrum. But he's got low muscle tone, motor planning issues, and speech delays. People tell me not to worry. That I am overreacting, maybe even projecting things onto Stow that aren't really there. I hope that's true, but somehow, I doubt it.

It feels like the last fourteen months have been filled with a thousand tiny bomb shells. Some of them just words. Harmless words. Words like: "Six months." Each phrase seems so innocuous. Individually, none of them are catastrophic. But combined, they threaten to destroy our very sense of well being, our ability to right our ship and navigate our way into another day.

But, then, just when I am about to be overwhelmed with this nagging sense of despair, I encounter tiny glimmers of hope. My children giggling. A bright blue sky. A good night's sleep. A joke from Sky. A picture from Pink P.

And I decide that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.


Josi 74 said...

What a beautiful way of looking at things. We all need to do this. It's so easy to focus all our energy on things that seem wrong to us and program ourselves to worry and make others around us anxious. Thanks for the inspiration.

Anonymous said...

Dude. My kid didn't walk until he was 15 months old, and didn't starting talking until he was two and a half (his first word was "shoe," meaning that he wanted to go outside, but it took me a while to figure that out). He didn't even point at stuff. In the education system, I had no end of worry and woe. And now? He's a school teacher, having graduated from a public university in Japan. He's also bilingual and bi-literate. He's musical, sporty, and a really, really great person. I feel privileged to know him.

However, there's a reason he's an only child. I don't know how you do it!