Ever since the daycare evaluation I wrote about back in April, I've been really paranoid and worried about Z. I think what is really happening is that for the first time I am being faced with the reality that my kid isn't perfect. Z has always been happy and healthy. He met his milestones until this talking delay and he was an easy baby. I've never before had to confront the idea that he was anything other than "perfect." This hasn't been easy for me.
Logically, I know a lot of good and reasonable thoughts, but I'm not being logical right now. Emotionally, I'm really scared to have a child that might need extra help. I'm ashamed to admit how much value I place on being "smart." I'm ashamed to admit how much it bothers me to think that Z might struggle in school or be an outcast among his peers. I'm ashamed that I feel embarrassed to tell people that Z is getting early intervention and that they are using a weighted therapy vest on him at school to help him cope with his emotions. I'm typing it here partially to get over these stupid feelings.
I'm truly ashamed because that is not practicing what I preach. I truly believe that people with special needs are just a different kind of unique. We all have our quirks, theirs might just be more obvious. I truly believe that there is more to life than doing well in school and going to college. I truly believe that there is no shame in therapy and that the stigma associated with it is a very serious problem in our society. I truly believe that struggles shape us and make us into better people.
But, he's my son. I want everything to be perfect and easy for him. I want his life to be free from struggles. My mother heart wants smooth sailing and easy living for my children. I want him to be happy.
That last thought is what finally pulled me out of this shame spiral. My son is happy. He's sweet and loving. He loves smiling at people and reading books. He loves jumping in puddles and kicking balls. He's creative and clever, mischievous and frustrating. He's a wonderful little boy with an infectious laugh.
He just needs a little help getting his words out. He needs a little extra reassurance when situations scare him at daycare. He's sensitive and empathetic. He worries about doing things well. In the end, he's only two. Who knows what's going on in his head?
So, here's the deal. One hour of speech therapy a week in our home or daycare. The speech pathologist is very sweet and gentle. I liked her immediately. I will participate with the sessions and we will come up with strategies together that we think will help Z make whatever connections he needs to use his vast vocabulary in his day to day life. He will be in this program until he turns three, at which time he might transfer into a program through the school system.
Lastly, here is what I am thankful for: my son is happy. He's a healthy kid. I don't have to be afraid for his life. He's sweet and wonderful. I'm blessed every day to be his mother and I'm so grateful that I live in a place where extra help is available to him. I'm glad we're taking this step.
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