When my son Josh reached his developmental milestones, speech was the lone exception. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s report on his language delay felt like a punch to the gut. No parent forgets the moment they first learn their child might struggle. As I listened to the therapist, I barely absorbed her words; my heart sank, and I felt utterly defeated. Days passed while I wrestled with my emotions, knowing I had a two-and-a-half-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter relying on me. I needed to shake off the despair and create a plan for the parent I aspired to be.
In my planner, I jotted down:
Problem: Josh isn’t talking.
Solution:
- Explore every avenue! Engage with Josh constantly, even if he seems disinterested. Teach him about our surroundings during car rides. Count street lights together—he loved them.
- Conduct thorough research. I refused to let any doctor or therapist question my commitment. I was determined to be the most informed parent in the room.
- Remember, I’m the one steering this ship. Therapists and doctors are part of the crew, but I’m in charge. I can do this!
I vividly recall when the local school district’s diagnostician visited and suggested Josh might have Asperger’s syndrome. She then implied I didn’t engage with him enough. “Do you get down on the floor to play with him?” she asked. Did I? I thought I did, but the memory wasn’t clear anymore. I felt blindsided and angry. Why was it always the mother who bore the blame?
After her visit, I researched Asperger’s and concluded it didn’t fit Josh. Children with Asperger’s typically have a vocabulary by their age; meanwhile, Josh had about 15 words, many of which were in his made-up language. Was I playing with him enough? Nothing seemed sufficient when I felt like a failure (which I wasn’t, but convincing myself of that back then was tough).
In need of some retail therapy, I ventured to the Gap and bought a new pair of blue jeans. I devised a plan: I’d wear these jeans every time I played on the floor with Josh. They weren’t just jeans; they became a symbol of my commitment to helping him navigate his Developmental Language Disorder. Josh faced challenges in both expressive and receptive language; he was in the 2nd percentile for his age. But I could see his eagerness to learn and communicate.
We began our journey at the train table, playing with Thomas the Tank Engine daily. I modeled questions and answers, hoping he’d learn to ask for water or express hunger. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen, practicing sign language alongside spoken words for “water,” “eat,” and “more.”
Instead of allowing speech goals to overwhelm me, I created my own based on what suited Josh best. If I could alleviate his frustrations, I knew progress would come more swiftly. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, we’ll focus on personal exchanges where he asks for what he needs. We’ll model these interactions repeatedly without frustrating him.”
We started with water, then moved on to food, toys, and his interests. I integrated reading sight words, colors, shapes, and the ABCs into our routine. One of his first words was “frappuccino.” Guilty as charged; Starbucks helped me through some tough days.
On our way to speech therapy, I counted streetlights, and one day, out of nowhere, Josh joined in. I broke down in tears; I had been anticipating that moment for ages. It meant that all my solo car conversations weren’t in vain. At first, reaching a goal took months, but after a year, we achieved them in just weeks.
Six months after I bought those jeans, I noticed they were fading at the knees. A couple of months later, they tore. I wore those ripped jeans proudly until Josh’s next speech evaluation. While his therapist reviewed his progress, I reflected on my own journey—the holes in my jeans represented hard-earned victories.
I bought a new pair of jeans shortly after, repeating this process six more times. I’ve kept most of the holey jeans as trophies for each milestone achieved. I often tell new parents of children with Developmental Language Disorder to buy a new pair of jeans, get on the floor, and play. While you can’t predict the outcome of the therapy and playtime, you can certainly enjoy your child and make memories—perhaps even put a few holes in those jeans. For more inspiration, check out this related post on home insemination.
In the end, my journey with Josh taught me resilience and creativity in parenting. For those navigating similar challenges, remember that every small victory counts.
Keyphrase: Speech Delay Development
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