When my son Alex hit all his developmental milestones except for speech, I was devastated. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s assessment regarding Alex’s language delay felt like a punch to the gut. As a parent of a child with special needs, I will never forget that moment. I was present but not really listening; my heart was heavy, and I felt utterly defeated. I had a lively two-and-a-half-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter who depended on me, so I knew I had to regroup and devise a proactive plan. I jotted down some notes in my planner:
Challenge:
Alex isn’t talking.
Approach:
- Explore every avenue! Engage Alex in conversation constantly, even if it seems like he’s not paying attention. Discuss things during car rides and count streetlights (he adored streetlights and trains).
- Research extensively. Never let another professional suggest I’m not doing enough. I will be the most informed parent they’ve ever met.
- I’m in the driver’s seat of this journey, not the therapist or doctors. They’re part of the team, but I’m the one steering this bus. I can handle this!
I distinctly recall the day the diagnostician from the local school district visited, suggesting Alex might have Asperger’s. She later implied that I didn’t engage with him enough. She asked, “Do you get down on the floor and play with him?” I thought I did, but suddenly I couldn’t recall specific moments. It felt like an avalanche had hit me. Why is it always the mother who shoulders the blame? I was fuming.
After she left, I researched Asperger’s online, and it didn’t seem to fit Alex at all. Children with Asperger’s typically exhibit timely speech development, whereas Alex was only using about 15 words, many of which were in his own made-up language. The thought of not playing with him enough gnawed at me. Nothing ever feels sufficient when you’re caught in the snare of self-doubt. (And no, I wasn’t a failure, but convincing myself of that 12 years ago was another story.)
To cope, I went to the Gap for a little retail therapy and bought a new pair of blue jeans. These jeans became my symbol of commitment to supporting Alex’s Developmental Language Disorder. He faced significant challenges with both expressive and receptive language, ranking in the 2nd percentile for his age. Yet, I could see his eagerness to learn and communicate.
Each day, we began playing with a train table featuring Thomas the Train. We practiced turn-taking with toys while I modeled conversations. I wanted nothing more than for him to express his needs, like asking for water or letting me know when he was hungry. We spent numerous hours in the kitchen, using sign language paired with spoken words for essentials like “water,” “eat,” and “more.”
Instead of letting speech goals overwhelm me, I tailored our objectives to suit Alex’s needs and frustrations. Easing his challenges would facilitate quicker progress. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, let’s focus on personal exchanges where he can ask for what he needs. Let’s model and repeat, then give him the item. He’ll catch on!”
We started with simple requests for water, gradually moving to food, toys, and items of interest. I even incorporated reading sight words, colors, shapes, and the alphabet. One of his first words was “frappuccino.” Yes, I confess; Starbucks helped me through those tough days.
I counted streetlight poles on the way to speech therapy, and one day, out of nowhere, Alex joined in. I was overwhelmed with emotion; this was the milestone I had been waiting for. All those conversations with myself in the car were finally paying off. Initially, it took about two months to achieve a single goal, but after a year, we were accomplishing new ones every two weeks.
Six months after buying my jeans, I noticed they were starting to fade at the knees. A couple of months later, the knees ripped. I wore those jeans proudly until Alex’s next speech evaluation. As his therapist reviewed the progress he’d made over the year, I thought about my own journey and those worn-out knees. They symbolized hard work and dedication.
Soon after, I bought another pair of jeans and repeated this process six more times. I’ve kept most of the holey jeans as trophies for each milestone achieved. I often encourage new moms navigating Developmental Language Disorder to invest in a new pair of jeans and enjoy the time spent playing with their children. While results may vary from therapy to therapy, the memories made during those playful moments are priceless.