Monday, August 29, 2016

Status Quo




"How old are they?"

I hate this question. Everywhere we go, strangers walk up to us and ask if my children are twins, followed by the dreaded "How old are they?"  The only way to avoid this conversation is to never go outside.  Which is not reality.

"Fourteen months old," I say, and smile.  Inwardly I grimace, waiting for the inevitable.

"So they're walking now?"  There it is.

"No, not yet," I say.

"Aren't they supposed to be walking by now?"

At this point I want to wrap my children in my arms and disappear.  Other times I feel obligated to explain why they are not yet walking.  Why don't people understand that developmental milestones happen when a child is ready?  Many toddlers don't walk until 18 months and they are perfectly fine.  Our pediatrician told us that our kids will be caught up by age two, that it is normal for twins to develop a little later because they are smaller at birth.  It is for this reason that my children have received early intervention services since they were five months old.  My daughter has made so much progress that once she walks she will test out of the program entirely.  My son is making progress too, but more slowly.

To be truthful, my son has been labeled at-risk.

What does this mean?  At-risk is the label given to children when they are too young for a diagnosis but there are red-flags indicating differences in typical development.  My son IS reaching milestones - he learned to sit up by himself at 14 months.  He has been army-crawling, or creeping, for almost two weeks now.  He knows how to take turns in conversation; although, while his sister babbles and learns new words, his singular sound for months has been ah.  Our son has many intervention goals - to crawl using his knees, to stand, to walk, to develop more vowel and consonant sounds, to eventually say a few words.   Does it matter that he is developing more slowly than expected?  Well, no... and yes.

Our children have the early childhood equivalent of an IEP - individualized education plan - usually written for school-age children with disabilities.  Our son's paperwork identifies a communication disorder and motor delay.  As educators, my wife and I know that intensive early intervention is the best strategy for dealing with these developmental issues.  We are aware that our son may be 100% typical and may catch up naturally to his same-age peers by age 2 or 3, with or without intervention.  Given certain factors, we are also aware that he is likely to be diagnosed with autism or developmental delay.

I am drawing upon my skill set as a teacher, and using books such as The Activity Kit for Babies and Toddlers at Risk: How to Use Everyday Routines to Build Social and Communication Skills during our daily play.  My wife called numerous clinics and hospitals in different states and chose a hospital that performs a full evaluation and assessment at 15 months; all others assess children 18 months or older.  We decided to be proactive. This way we can know for sure.  If our child turns out to be on the autism spectrum, we will be able to get him services even sooner.

Nothing truly prepares you for hearing "at-risk."  Educators use this phrase regularly, almost clinically, when looking at student data.  But a parent doesn't want to hear these words.  My son is a smart, funny, sweet, cuddly, exuberant little boy.  He also has a unique set of needs for us to address.  My wife and I have been matter-of-fact about this, both of us operating in take-action mode.  My son's differences were most obvious to me the day we went to a parent group luncheon and I saw my child against the backdrop of other same-age toddlers.  That day I felt overwhelmed by the enormity of our situation and cried.  Yet it is also our status quo.  We have two wonderful, happy children, and all is well as long as we keep up the work and stop comparing our son to other children.  This is why I want to rage and scream when strangers ask innocuous yet judgmental questions.

"Shouldn't they be walking by now?"








Thursday, August 18, 2016

Four Legs Kicking



Four legs kicking.  That's what I see when I glance down at the stroller I am pushing.  My children freely kick their feet while we walk, giggling as they watch each other kick.  While I am driving, they kick in their carseats and I see their legs in the rearview mirror.  In their cribs, they awaken and kick with excitement when I enter the room in the morning.  Whenever they are left to their own devices, they kick with their whole beings.  And when they kick, they smile.  More often than not, those smiles become giggles.

In the meantime, I have not quite recovered from our move to Florida.  We moved out of our beloved condo to a hotel in Massachusetts with two kids and four cats, then two weeks later we all flew to Florida.  Finally finally FINALLY our stuff came and we unpacked and unpacked and unpacked.  Then... limbo.

For the first time in my life, I'm not working.  So while my wife starts a new job in a new school district, I wake up every morning to a long day ahead with my two little ones, planning meals and household chores and errands and if I'm incredibly lucky a successful nap time.  It's too damn hot to go outside and I feel too cooped up staying indoors.  According to social media where I look for meet-up groups and things to do, I'm a SAHM.  A Stay-At-Home-Mom.

Sometime during my first week,  I found myself wandering aimlessly through Sam's Club, pushing my children in their double stroller, looking at huge quantities of many things we neither want nor need.  Is this my life now, I wondered, wallowing in homesickness.  Then I looked down.  There they were.  Four legs kicking.  Two little faces smiling up at me.

What did I do?  Well, I didn't get a Sam's Club Membership.  I marched us right back to the car and we went home.  I lay on my back beside my toddlers and all three of us kicked the bedroom wall with our legs high above our heads, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.  My children's laughter pulled me out of the mud.

Since then, every day has gotten better.  I have a new job now, I'm a SAHM.  It's intense, and exhausting, and wonderful, and funny all at the same time.  We spend a lot of time being silly, making goofy noises, dancing around the house, watching the overhead fans and turning on and off the light switches.  We play with educational toys, read tons of books, and go on daily outings.  Every day, my children kick with their whole bodies.  Every day, in my less-than-stellar moments, their joy reminds me to take a deep breath, smile, and kick a little more freely.