Whatcha talking about?

For most children, speech develops spontaneously. At some point in their infancy they call out from their cribs  --- "mama" or "dada." Or they babble a variety of sounds and eventually ask for milk or their lovie at bedtime. I didn't spend any time thinking about when this would happen to my young children, I just had faith that it would. So, at Rebecca's 15 month well visit, it came as quite a shock when her pediatrician expressed marked concern about her non-verbal status. "No words?" she said. "Not even mama or dada? What about no?" I rubbed my eyes, shook my head, waking myself from my sleep-deprived, mother-of-a-newborn-too state and looked at my husband -- I wasn't making this all up, she really wasn't talking, right? It had never occurred to me that this was a problem. Apparently, it was.

My perfect, bright eyed child wasn't perfect? A delay? A developmental delay? I am awake. And officially scared.

Despite those labels, this child listens and understands, those bright eyes are deep windows to a mind I know understands me and this world she's actively a part of. She is still perfect, right?
In my heart, I couldn't believe anything except the idea that she was perfect.

And so we began the state-supported early intervention program, Babynet.
Enter, many well-meaning professionals who would support my heart's feelings, but interject their professional concern --including a well-meaning early interventionist, who softly whispered the word "autistic."  "Shame on her, " I told my husband. And an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist who concluded that subjecting a child with a history of only one ear infection to anesthesia and the insertion of tubes might be helpful, thus prompting us to seek a second opinion and a hearing screen, all of which were normal.

Then, enter Miss Neely, Rebecca's speech therapist. She came into our home, and became a part of this scary journey. She never sugar-coated the severity of Rebecca's delay, nor did she ever express doubt that it would improve. She came with faith in her own skills and better yet, faith in my daughter. I had the latter, and in a matter of minutes I had faith in Miss Neely's skills too.

She came weekly, and patiently urged, encouraged and required Rebecca to communicate with us, first using signs and in time with sounds.
She brought toys, and week to week, she remembered the toys my child liked most.
She learned who my child was & was then able to alleviate the fears that others couldn't.
She sat on the floor (which I tried very hard to sweep in the minutes before she arrived) and engrossed herself in my child and our struggles and accomplishments.
She noticed Rebecca's painted toenails or new dress and kindly ignored my lack of shower and frequent appearance in pajamas for our mid-morning sessions.
She oooed and ahhed over Durham, after Rebecca. And ignored the dirty breakfast dishes still on the table.
She praised my child.
She held my child to a standard perfectly fitting.

Then she came twice a week in an effort to further reinforce the therapy. She shared with us that Rebecca's progress gave her reason to think that her delay was not a part of disorder, but instead just Rebecca's own time table for speech development.
Rebecca began to talk.
Miss Neely went on maternity leave.
And Rebecca starting chatting away. Over Christmas, she began putting strings of words together and using words other than those we had worked on in her therapy sessions. I remember texting Miss Neely to tell her Rebecca had strung together three words "Santa, up, house."
Her light bulb came on.
Just like Miss Neely said it would.
Before Miss Neely came back from maternity leave, Rebecca was discharged from speech therapy.

Only months later, at Durham's 15 month well visit, we were again referred for speech services. By that point, I was a pro. My smiling bright eyed boy was perfect. I didn't allow anyone to interject thoughts otherwise. He would speak, in his own time, and until then we would appreciate the same support and push that his sister had received.
And it is just what he got until his light bulb came on. And lucky for us, from Miss Neely, now back
from maternity leave.

The gift of communicating with your child is one I think might be taken for granted quite often. I know I would have taken it for granted.
It makes the moments all the more special when my children can tell me what they are thinking or wanting or dreaming about. Moments like tonight, when Rebecca announced we should go to Target tomorrow and get some avocados to make guacamole. And she would squish them -- first her and then me. (guess we're having guacamole tomorrow!)
A year ago, she wasn't verbalizing basic needs or wants. Now, she sings, she chatters and amazes me with her vocabulary. And urges her brother as he progresses with his own speech development.

Walking away from this experience, I have come to appreciate my children's health. In the grand scheme of things, my children's speech delays were a minor bump along the way. There were moments, especially at the beginning, that I wasn't confident enough to say that, but now I am. I also know there are mothers out there who don't get the relief I now have. For their sakes, I hope they have the same caliber of support that has bolstered me. I am grateful to all the people who helped us get to our ending -- from our pediatrician, who wasn't in a newborn mother fog and proactively referred us, to the second Ear, Nose and Throat specialist who took his time with us and listened to our history, to the audiologist whose professional appearance wouldn't have led you to be think she would be so kid-friendly, to our Miss Neely.

It takes a village, ya know?
I am glad my kids & I had this one.