Our boy.

He doesn’t talk the way other kids his age do.

I’ve known it for over a year, watching him & practicing & my heart hurting the way he seems to struggle.  The way he doesn’t quite form the words & I know that part of him being so quiet is the perfectionist trait he inherited from his momma, not wanting to try unless he knows he can succeed.  The way my heart burst one thousand times when he put two words together on his own in January, saying “Bye-bye, moon!” when we went inside & I nearly cried.  How many times I’ve cried, out of pure joy when he says a word clearly & in frustration when he is screaming & I’m begging him to please, please use a word or show Momma, but no screaming.  How once & twice a week for the past six months, I’ve sat on the floor in speech therapy, taking mental notes for ways to play with him, read to him, teach him to use language.

I don’t understand it because language has always come easily for me, from talking to reading & writing.  I may not always know what to say, but I always have something to say.  It is so different with my boy, who sits quietly while we race monster trucks & bake wooden cookies.

I know this is a “common” thing, especially for young boys.  I hear stories of kids that open their mouths for the first time with full sentences when they are four & stories of apraxia with years of therapy.  There are people that tell me to wait it out, that he’ll speak someday.  There are others that warn me against waiting too long, that push for a diagnosis.  We are doing what feels right for our son.  All other opinions are just unwelcome noise. 

He is my baby & I am his momma & I love the parts of him that are hard for me to grasp.