Because I Said So

Five Signs of Spring

1. College boys are spotted wearing their big, ol' baggy shorts and flip-flops when the the temp hits 40 degrees
2. Last year's garbage reappears on the lawn after the snow melts
3. Neighbors across the street venture outside to yell at one another
4. Ira the Cat pisses on the floor near the open window (damned marking behavior!)
5. I shave my legs

Toddler Work-Out

I took Henry to the local community pool on Friday. It has a lap pool and a kiddie pool that is, at its deepest, about 25 inches deep -- so Henry could swim (walk) from one end to the other. Which he did, for about an hour and a half. He loves the water. He also enjoys watching the other kids splash and play. He smiled his coy "come hither" smile to one of the other parents, who was utterly charmed. When it was time to go, Henry protested loud and long. A half hour later we were eating lunch, and I looked up to see Henry's head lolling forward onto his highchair tray: he was asleep in mid-chew.

And On A Poopier Note...

Last Thursday -- St Patrick's Day -- Henry's school had a celebration of the holiday, and parents signed up to bring green food. (Note from school to parents: "Lunch meat should be the normal color.") I, typically, forgot about this until I noticed his lunch was untouched.

The next day, Henry pooped green. And I mean

GREEN.

How many green cupcakes did he eat??

Henry's Assessment Results and Resulting Treatise

We had the first assessors here last Wednesday (a speech pathologist and child development specialist) and two more here today (an occupational therapist and a psychologist). Thus far, the verdict seems to be that Henry has low muscle tone, hence slack muscles -- causing language and motor skill delay. A team of therapists will be visiting us weekly to help him out. The psychologist said that he does not exhibit the classic signs of autism, but does have a couple "funky" traits, e.g. not responding to his name when he is absorbed in something, some indications of "low registration" or insensitivity (high pain threshhold, omnivorous eating habits, etc.).

They assured us that physical therapy would help with the muscle tone, and that he obviously likes people and wants interaction but doesn't know how to go about it yet (due to his communication delay). Jon and I have been reading books on development and communcation styles, and have made a concerted effort to engage him as best we can. He's not the kind of child who will initiate play or conversation -- unlike my niece, Maggie, who at 18 months would run up and say "Come play with me!"

I realize that we were too passive with Henry and allowed him to play by himself a lot, because that is what he likes to do -- but it doesn't make for much advanced in social skills. We see a lot of improvement in only a week of trying some different methods. I feel like I had a few "Eureka!" moments this week, as though I suddenly understand him better and now know why I felt my interactions with him were a bit off.

So -- where does this all lead?  We will see our pediatrician in a couple weeks to discuss all of this. Henry will start therapy soon. I feel better than I did a week ago, when I worried that he had autism or worse. The assessors seem to think that his delays are temporary and can be overcome with work.

It's a bit confusing, making sense of the jumble of terms and concepts surrounding behavior, temperament, development, etc. Once again, I think about where we were 30 or 40 years ago, when there was hardly any early childhood education or intervention, when there were few tests or indicators of any difficulties beyond the most severe. Undoubtedly progress has been made, knowledge gained -- but it is also possible that things that would once go unremarked or thought of as just quirks (e.g. Henry's self-absorption and "insensitivity") are now thought of as problematic because they fall outside the norm.

And that there is really nothing wrong with these traits at all.

Ever notice that every single list of milestones will have a caveat attached, such as "Keep in mind that every child develops at their own pace, and that these are just general guidelines"...?

Ever notice that, though you may understand that caveat intellectually, it is almost impossible not to worry when your child doesn't achieve said milestones?

Maybe we have too much statistical data about what constitutes "normal." Maybe we, as a culture, are losing the ability to appreciate the odd, the quirky, the "black sheep" of the family.

Of course, we wouldn't want to blithely dismiss any assessment of Henry if it means we will deny him the opportunity to improve his skills.

But I don't want to lose sight of the fact that Henry is Henry: a lovely, warm, charming, quirky little boy who is perfect in our eyes.

Six Things I Have "Disappeared"

1. "Tonka Trucks Around Town" (times read at last count: 1,428)
2. Chicken Dance Elmo (a gift from our good friend Sarah, and with friends like these, who needs enemies?)
3. A Koos Alberts CD (who is Koos Alberts? Ask a Dutchman [or woman]. We have a Dutch friend named Jan. He gave us this CD. See above comment re. friends/enemies...)
4. Jingle Cats "Meowy Christmas"
5. Jon's raggedy ol' boxers (Attention, straight men! You can exchange currency for underwear at any number of stores in your area. Or even online! See your girlfriend or wife for more details.)
6. My evening.

Where oh where did it go? It is all blogged away...

Our Little Narcissus

I let Henry play with a hand mirror in his bath tonight. He looked at himself and laughed and laughed. "Are you going to kiss the baby?" I asked. He brought the mirror to his lips, opened wide, and gave his reflection a long, caressing lick. Ack! He's not going to be one of those kissers, is he?

He also stood up in the tub tonight and said "bath! bath!" (it came out more like "bass!"). He's picked up a couple more words this week. He has his assessment tomorrow morning. There will be two people coming to the house: a child development specialist and a speech pathologist. I'm looking forward to it and feel much less anxious than I did last week.

However, I am considering dropping the ECFE class. The parent instructor is patronizing, and I have yet to "bond" with or feel a connection to any of the other moms. I used to really look forward to the class I took last year; it was one of the high points of my week. But this one feels like drudgery.

In other baby news, we are in the process of shopping for a twin bed for H. I'm leaning toward the Little Tikes Sports Car Twin Bed. It's 110 pounds of solid, tacky plastic. Plus, it's kind of expensive for 110 pounds of solid, tacky plastic.

On the other hand, Henry will probably love it. (As I type this, he sleeps with a florescent orange Hot Wheels car clutched in his chubby fist). We have spent very little on baby gear, having received most of our clothes and toys secondhand (from stores and/or friends & family), so splurging once in awhile won't hurt. Now I just have to convince Jon...

Ode to Kava Instant Coffee

Kava, my Kava, on cold mornings I come to you.
You sit patiently in the cupboard, asking only for hot water.
You dissolve in an instant; you give yourself completely.
Kava, lovely Kava, you spark the pilot light of my brain.
I flare up like a furnace.
I burn only for you.

Kava, fickle and petulant,
There are times when I cannot find you.
The discount store says you have run out;
They don't know when you will be back.
Another store carries you no longer.
You leave no forwarding address.

I confess, my little beverage of love, having lost you
I turned away
And tried another brand.
If Maxwell House was good enough for Mississippi John,
It would be good enough for me:

What folly!

The cool blue label belied the acid-y gut-bomb within.
I tasted the bitterness of my regret
for many hours afterward.

Your perky red cap flitted through my consciousness,
A reminder of better days
Now so distant.

Kava, my Kava!
Return to me, my love.
I want to wake up
to your smell, your taste, your crunchy freeze-dried thingies.
Humble and penitent,
I kneel before you and make my choice:
Buy direct.

I will gladly pay shipping.

Controlling Anxiety Through Sleep Deprivation and Crying Jags

Hint: it doesn't work.

I spent much of the weekend anxious about Henry's speech delay. On Thursday when I picked Henry up from daycare one of his teachers said he is still not talking when he is there. It made me very sad, thinking about Henry spending 10 hours a day, three days a week, not speaking -- or not being heard. (It's very noisy there, and Henry is a quiet kid, and I think he gets lost in the shuffle. All the more reason for me to be home with him.) On top of that I had a lousy day on Friday at our ECFE class. I'm not even going to go into the details. Suffice it to say that every insecurity I have re. my mothering abilities (lack thereof) was brought into stark relief by some comments made by the instructor.

But I am feeling much better now. Thank you to all the people who posted helpful and supportive comments. It means a lot to me. Sometimes I wish to God I had never read a baby manual, or seen a list of milestones, or browsed through the info at BabyCenter, because all the conflicting information just increases my anxiety and doesn't ultimately help me.

Up to a certain point, doing research and having "the facts" is a good thing -- but I go way overboard in ferreting out every little data bit from any source (not all credible) and pretty soon I'm bawling because Henry is the real world embodiment of Lenny in "Of Mice and Men" or those "special ed" kids across the street from my childhood elementary school, the ones who were given derogatory nicknames and pelted with sticks and gravel from the playground.

Enough of the Drama-Queenmother shit!

Henry's speech assessment is scheduled for this Wednesday. I am glad we will be doing this, and I hope to get some useful information out of it. Today Henry said "Me! Me! Me!" when I was putting on his shoes because he wanted to fasten the Velcro. So he is making progress, and probably much of my worrying is for naught.

Disappointingly Fair

I watched "Blind Justice" last night and it wasn't that bad. It had a lot going for it, but it just didn't deliver. It did have some cheesily unrealistic points, though; for example, the main character, Dunbar, carries a gun. And this is glossed over by a statement he makes that he "signed a liability waiver." Can you really get a license for a gun if you're blind? I get the sense that the writers just kind of hurriedly pushed past this issue, like, "yeah, have him say he signs a waiver or something."

Also, to hammer home how much he is shunned by his new co-workers, they all speak very resentfully, very sneeringly, about his guide dog, Hank. So does his wife ("You don't need me, you need your dog!"). Close-up of Hank looking very sweet and passive. Those mean people! They even hate the dog! Boy, that really ramps up my feelings of goodwill and sympathy for the main character. Picking on a dog, geeze. You get the idea.

Something that bugged me: all the men looked pretty normal, like ordinary guys. But the two women (wife and new partner) looked like they just came from Aveda. The partner in particular looked a little too hip to be a cop. She looks and sounds a bit like Jennifer Lopez. And Dunbar's marriage is shaky...do we see where this is going?

So: not good or bad enough to be truly entertaining. Just as I suspected, it's no "Dark Justice."

The search for truly bad television continues.

An Undercurrent of Worry

Henry is not talking very much yet. When we saw our pediatrician in January, she said that if he doesn't know 50 words by the time he's two we should "have it checked out." One of the teachers at our ECFE class also recommended that he be assessed, and so I've begun filling out the paperwork for that. I didn't make it to our class on Friday because I was preparing for a going-away party we hosted Friday night for our friend Aaron, who is...going away.

On Friday afternoon, our ECFE instructor called and left a voicemail referencing the assessment and saying that she hoped I was okay, and that she was available if I needed to talk. I felt like calling her back and saying, "Why wouldn't I be okay?" But that sounded a bit defensive (it does, doesn't it? DOESN'T IT?), and I felt a bit bothered by it but I wasn't sure why so I just let it lie there. And here I am in bed on Sunday night, thinking about what I need to do for the week ("finish paperwork for assessment") and I'm starting to worry about it.  "It" being the whole enchilada, Henry's lack of speechifying and the upcoming tests and the whole bit.

Today Henry surprised me by distinguishing between four different colors on one of his toys. He can say maybe 15 or 20 words, but he doesn't use them consistently. Like books, the favorites wax and wane. A couple weeks ago it was "Up-a-bah" ("up above" as in the song "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"), now it's "eat." He uses a few signs, too, since we got the "Signing Times" videos. My sense is that he understands a lot more than he can say.

My friend K. has a son who is three months younger than Henry, and is also not a big talker. K. was talking with another mom of a toddler, a child who is already speaking in sentences and is quite precocious as far as language is concerned, and when K. commented on it (and on her own son's lack of words) the woman said "Oh, well, we work really hard on that." I suppose the subtext is that parents of non-speaking toddlers are not putting enough effort into -- not reading enough, not talking enough, not doing enough.

Maybe she's right. Maybe we need to let Henry out of the cellar a bit more. We try to get him out for an hour a day, give him some bread and water and some gruel if he's been good -- but maybe we should kick it up to two hours.

All this boils down to one question: how much should I be worrying?