Speech II

So I send in the paperwork and set up a meeting with Liz.

The night before the meeting I panic and go into Jan cleaning mode. (Jan is my mom...)

What if she comes in and sees that I didn't vacuum up every speck of dog hair..and she takes Parker away? 

What if she notices the terrible linoleum in our bathroom and thinks our house isn't fit for a child in 2015..and takes him away?

What if she sees that the lock on P's door is on the outside..and assumes we lock him in there for hours...and takes him away??

Ya, funny story about that one. While we were sleep training him in his new bed he wasn't quite a pro at opening doors yet. 

So one night he is at the door fumbling with the knob for what seemed like forever and I just wait for him to get it open...when all of a sudden I panic. 

I realized that he was about to lock himself in his bedroom..from the inside. 

I sprint, which for me is more like the tortoise at the starting line, down the hallway to open the door. I reach for the door when I hear it.

He turned the lock. 

Shit.

I tried to coax him into opening the door. My kid is smart, he could have done it if he had wanted to. I didn't want to call Thane from the shower (he had just gotten home from something) to confess that I had just let our child lock himself in his room. Can you say mom of the year?

Ya, it didn't work. P was locked in. He was knocking on his door..."Mooooooooommmy!!!!!!" and laughing. So much for bedtime. I had to tell Thane.

I knocked on the door, "Um..babe? Parker locked himself in his room...."

Thane just stared at me. Panic started to rise in my throat. What if he ate a book? Don't laugh..he would. What if he gets baby powder all over the room? (Ya, now he has done that twice. It sucks.) What if we can't open the door?? 

Thane tried to get him to unlock it but ended up going to get a screwdriver to take off the door knob. Mind you, these knobs are literally as old as we are, so just like us...they were rusty or something. Whatever it was...Thane could barely get the screws out. 

So needless to say, after what seemed like 20 minutes of P being locked in his room...the lock is now on the outside. Thane did store a screwdriver in one of P's drawers though...just in case we got locked in somehow ;)

So anyways, I cleaned and then obsessed about reasons she might take P away. By the way...as far as I knew she just worked for Birth to Three...little did I know that she was actually a Social Worker who worked for them...or I probably would have gone crazy. 

The next morning was P's first day in a new classroom. Not a big deal. All the kids sat at the table and their teacher asked them if they wanted Raisin Bran or Cheerios. 

All of them yelled out "Raisin Bran!!!" My jaw dropped. I looked at P. His lips were pursed; he had his serious face one. His silent serious face. I knew he couldn't say either of those words.

I hugged him and tried not to cry. Didn't achieve that..but I tried. I'm sure they thought I was crying because my baby was growing up, he had moved up in the rooms. But no. I was upset to actually be witness as to how far behind he was. 

We go home and Liz shows up and Bernie falls in love with her. Won't leave her alone. It's pretty obnoxious when a 100+ pound dog won't leave a person trying to write alone. 

Parker is napping so we just sat on my couch and talked for almost an hour. She took at least 7 pages of note. I cried. 

It's amazing to me how emotional I was during this. Logically I know that getting speech services is not the end of the world. If P needed it, it would help him and we would do what we need to. I know we are fortunate that this is our only concern with him so far. Well...besides his selective hearing. But my mother instincts....they kick in. Mother instincts aren't always rational. Therefore...I'm emotional about it.  

He finally wakes up and comes out...and is so shy he barely says the few words he can say. We travel to his toy room and he opens up a little bit but quickly becomes crabby because he is hungry. He gets emotional like me when he is hungry. 

Feed me or I get pissy. 

Basically in the short time she was with P she determined he wasn't where he needed to be. When she was leaving he threw a tantrum in front of the pantry and she just stood there and watched. "Is this pretty typical?"

I sighed, "Yes. He is a master at tantrums."

She nodded, "He should be saying words right now...at least some..to let you know what he wants."

I must admit, when she left I was excited. We were going to get him the help he needs and I'd be able to hear his beautiful voice. He would be able to tell me if he wanted to play with trucks or trains. 

So she called me the next day to set up the consult with the speech therapist.