Choose joy

Last week I got to take Z to story time at the library, just the two of us, while my parents hung out with Bear. It was the first time and Z is always a little antsy about new things so I was a little antsy as well. He picked out his carpet square and proceeded to join the rest of the squirmy mass on the big rug while I sat in a chair near him. After a few minutes his squirmy neighbor introduced himself in a standard preschooler way, "Hi, I'm _____. I'm 3." As always, knowing that Z would never answer for himself, I jumped in and said, "He's Z-," but just at that moment I heard his little voice distinctly say, "I'm Z-."

Y'all. I teared up. I was so excited I wanted to jump up and down and celebrate. I've never heard him introduce himself before and I could barely contain myself. But I did, and later when he had left his carpet square to snuggle on my lap during a book, I wanted to cry again because I suddenly felt so incredibly discouraged and anxious about his delays. The scary "what if" monster reared his ugly head and all of my fears paraded through my mind.

What if he never catches up? What if it's more than just speech? What if it's my fault? 
Maybe I drank too much coffee while I was pregnant. Maybe it was the formula. Maybe I didn't talk to him enough, read to him enough, do enough. 

And just like that, I let those crazy thoughts and little fears suck away my joy. I let my own insecurities overshadow my son's accomplishment that day. I let all of the moments when our communication challenges make life so much harder crush me.

It was days later when I was sitting around a camp fire with some good friends, hearing myself vomit out some of these thoughts all over the unsuspecting and very kind recipient (thanks Mary Kate), that I was able to get that joy back. It was her encouragement and stopping for a minute to acknowledge all of the goals Z has met that helped me recover how proud I am of my little son. He's doing so well. He's making gains all the time. I'm so glad I get to witness it.