Tuesday, December 4, 2012


I try. I try to have patience. Most of the time, I do. When I taught, my phrase was that I needed about eight oceans of patience to deal with the students and all that went with them. Now I have my own child, and he's the dearest darling of my heart. He is smiley and gives hugs and sturdy and climbs all over everything. He shrieks with laughter at the dog and when we tickle him.

I just wish he could tell us some of that.

I feel selfish and terrible for even writing this. He could have so many other problems that I don't even dare *think* about, and I know that every child progresses at his own rate. I *know* in my heart that with guidance and time, he will form words and one day T and I will look at each other in wonder and say, "God, remember when he didn't say anything? Now he won't stop talking!"

But I get scared. And frustrated. And impatient. He's learning sign language, so that's been HUGE. Currently he only knows the one, but "more" covers an awful lot of territory. It gets hard on some days to focus on what he *can* do rather than what he *can't* because the latter include things we've been waiting for and seeing other kids do. We don't always concentrate on the former enough.

I feel as though we should play with him more, that if we find the right combination of toys and gestures, maybe something will connect. That's it, though, really, keep trying different methods until he makes that leap (baby step?) in his little mind. And then the questions: *Are* we doing enough? Should we do something different? More? Should he have more therapy? Should we just relax, considering we've heard all sorts of stories about kids not talking for a while and then suddenly coming out with full sentences? How long will this lack of words go on? Is he OK????

We'll just keep doing a little, every day, and I will work my hardest at not letting the what-ifs and the uncertainty get to me. I, unfortunately, can be a champion worrier; combine that with my first-time motherhood and the overpowering love I have for this child and my feeling that I would do anything to help him, and...yikes.

So I will say the Serenity Prayer more often and do what I can from my end, and I'll wait for J to be ready. That's really all I can do. And I'll remind myself that it's enough.


Rachel said...

You are an AWESOME mom. I know that because I know YOU. Everything that you said in the post is true...kids develop at their own rates; soon he will be talking so much you'll want him to stop...but that knowledge doesn't make the worry that you feel RIGHT NOW any easier to carry, and I am so sorry that you have this concern on your heart right now. Hang in there, my sweet friend. And please know that you ARE doing enough. You are talking to, playing with, and loving J every single day. You are a wonderful mother. xoxo

jules said...

Today, I sat outside the children's room at the bookstore where A goes for her monthly book club meeting. A mother, whose daughter is new to the club, turned to me, as we all sat making Christmas lists, organizing coupons, checking e-mail, and waiting for the kids to be finished.

"How old is your daughter?" she asked.

"She just turned seven," I replied.

"Oh," said the new mom.

"Why's that?" I had to ask.

She absent-mindedly turned away and said, "Just wondering. My daughter is so much taller and she just turned six."

It never, ever gets easier.

I spent three years asking "What if?" What if she could never have babies? What if her heart wasn't ok? What if she wouldn't grow? Etc. Etc. Etc.

And I still ask, for both my children, "What if?" What if they aren't happy? What if they are treated badly someday? What if they don't find love? Etc. Etc. Etc.

Every. Single. Day. is. Hard.

And Every single day is beautiful. But each day brings unique wonders and challenges that bring us joy and sadness. And sometimes on the same day.

This too will all be answered someday. However, in the interim, let me share with you something that someone sent to me once, when A was first born, and there were so many "What ifs?"