I am having the kind of week where I go to make a second pot of tea, forget to change the bag, and wind up with a pot of tea-scented water. And I am too tired and discouraged to go through all the trouble of boiling water again, so I announce that “It’s chocolate time!” and have a piece of chocolate with Sam instead. (He did not mind.)
I don’t know if it’s really fair to blame the time change, but Sam was sleeping beautifully for a week or two — which is like one million years in Sam time — and Sunday night he started sleeping like shit. Oh fuck fair, I blame the time change.
I am so tired. And poor Will has barely been sleeping at all. And it really doesn’t help that with the toilet training, Sam’s language has regressed severely so we are killing ourselves trying to communicate with him. (It’s normal for children to backslide on one skill while learning another, but SO ANNOYING.)
And here’s where I change gears entirely because something amazing happened. Or really, it wasn’t that amazing, but it set my mind reeling.
See, here’s the thing. There are people who think we should have Sam in speech therapy. They think he is developmentally delayed because he doesn’t talk the way other kids his age talk. But Sam is almost certainly NOT developmentally delayed. He is, to be sure, doing things at his own pace. But when he does talk, he uses complete sentences and complex concepts. It’s just that he usually communicates non-verbally, and when he talks you have to really listen to know what he is saying (his consonants could be clearer).
There is no question that he understands what is said to him, and that is the real marker for language development. Will and I both feel certain that he is fine, and do not want to have him evaluated. But when he backslides, we get discouraged and we second-guess ourselves.
Lately we have been having balloon fights. Sam hands us a balloon or three and he gets a balloon and we bash them together like big round swords. This afternoon a balloon he was holding popped. He looked at the limp rubber and carefully stretched it lengthwise, then blew into it. Exactly the way we blow up new balloons. And I looked at him and I remembered that he is fucking brilliant and I don’t give a rat’s ass how much other kids talk — Sam talks when he has something to say and that is just right.