September 04, 2008
Today was a big day for us.
It might have been my son who entered kindergarten but it took a lot of hard work, determination and gut- following on both our parts to make this day the perfect reality that it was. His one small step into Room 102 felt a lot more like a giant leap. As he confidently strolled into the classroom showing off his Clone Wars backpack with barely a wave goodbye in my direction, I had what felt like a movie montage of the last five years leading up to this moment.
Six months old--I come upon him and his babysitter walking in the neighborhood only to have him stare blankly at me with no recognition or smile. The look that passed between my babysitter and I. Were we going to ignore this moment? We did. I didn't.
Ten months old--His mommy group playdate. Everyone crawling and playing except my boy who sits up gazing out the window.
One year--Still not eating on his own. Doctor says it's okay. Some develop the "pincher grasp" later than others.
Fourteen months--Doesn't make eye contact. Only has five words. I google myself into a state of daily panic.
Sixteen month check-up--Not walking yet. Doctor says to come back in a month if nothing changes. Was he listening? We get home. He naps. Wakes up and walks across the room. Never falling or stumbling. Walking like he's been doing it forever.
Seventeen months--We go to the park. He is fascinated by wheels. Wants to watch them turn over and over again. Grandma notices. I know she notices.
Twenty months--Now has about twenty words like "up" and "book." Feeling better until we start our new toddler class. Greeted at the door by a boy who introduces himself with, "Hi, I'm J-A-C-O-B." I come home and cry because Jacob can spell.
2 years-old--His gym class. We go around the room for what must be the hundredth time with each kid saying their name except mine.
2 years, three months--It happens. The toddler program teacher wants to talk to me. She thinks something might be wrong with my beautiful boy. He should be participating more. Interacting with other kids. My heart sinks. It's time to see a specialist.
2 years, four months--I watch as my little guy goes through a series of tests with a speech and developmental therapist. I hold my breath. I fight the tears. He looks frustrated and tired. A few awkward moments of silence and then the diagnosis. At this point, she does not feel he is on the autistic spectrum. He is delayed and we have work to do. We'll have to monitor him for the next few months. Okay. I can handle this.
2 years, eight months--Speech improving. Eye contact not so much. We begin transition at pre-school. Guess which mom can't leave the room?
2 years, nine months--He doesn't test well at the specialist. We'll try again in a few months. Abandon my basket in Target later that day and bawl in the bathroom.
2 year, ten months--First day of preschool. Lots of crying kids except mine. He says goodbye and plays on the floor. He is fine. I can leave.
3 years--Re-test him. He's making up for lost time. We are cautiously optimistic.
And so it goes. He hits every marker. Always later than everyone else but always within the appropriate time. He potty trains at three and a half. It takes two days, two accidents and not even one pull-up. He gives up his pacifier at four. He simply wakes up on his fourth birthday, hands it over and never says a word about it again. Finally learns to swim at five. Spends the whole summer in intensive lessons but waits until labor day to swim across the pool into the deep end. "I told you I could do it if I want," he says. At this point, I have no doubt.
This is who he is. A guy who does things in his own time. I tell you all of this because it took me a long time to grasp this concept. To accept him for who he is and truly appreciate his unique rhythm. There is such a rush to judgement with friends and relatives when it comes to our children. Of course, we, as moms, need to be aware of developmental problems and seek intervention early but the fact is, some kids are simply slower when it comes to development than others. And that's okay. And they'll be okay. And you know what, as I stood at the kindergarten door this morning listening to a nearby mom go on and on about the chapter books her daughter had read over the summer and how proud she was of her advanced violin playing, I had to laugh, because I was beaming with pride watching my blossoming boy simply strut into his class with barely a look back. For him, for me, for us, it was a huge moment.
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