My friend Sundry has a son, Riley, who's about 9 months younger than Charlie. She wrote something in her
online journal Tuesday that has been on continual replay in my head today:
GUILT! GUILT! GUILT! God, does it ever end? Is there any parent on this f***ing earth who thinks they’re doing a great job?Well is there, anywhere, a parent who thinks they're doing a fantastic, bang-up job at this child-rearing gig? Not any parent in MY house, I can tell you that.
Charlie doesn't talk. Well, that's not true. Charlie does talk, but not in a language any of us understand. I'm not even sure if he understands it. So even though I know he's fine and he's obviously bright and he's making eye contact with me therefore he's not autistic, I can't let it go.
Ruminating, my therapist calls it. He says whenever I find myself ruminating, I should tell myself, "You're ruminating!" and then think about something else.
So I tried it. Totally doesn't work, people. Don't even waste your time trying.
Now, I've spent the last 19 and 3/4 months trying hard not to compare my kid to others. I hate the milestones our kids are supposed to meet. Of course, it was easy to disregard the milestones when I had a son who either met or exceeded every milestone out there. First real smile - 5 weeks. Sitting unsupported - 7 months, baby. Walking unassisted - 6 days after his first birthday - December 25 (and running at top speeds 2 weeks later).
So we never really worried about him talking. He babbled all the time, and he did say Mama and Dada - even if it was only when he wanted to, and not when I was, say, looking at him and saying, "Say Mama! Say Mama!" 8573 times.
But now, he's almost 20 months, and he doesn't say anything except the occasional mama, dada, mommy, daddy and bye bye. Oh, he said baby once or twice.
So I tell myself again that he's fine and he's obviously bright and he's making eye contact with me therefore he's not autistic. But then my cousin tells me that her daughter Celia said her first sentence. She's three days younger than Charlie. And I read that the aforementioned Riley said "ba pa" when they brought the backpack out. He's not even one yet. Obviously my kid is not as bright and advanced as I thought he was, and I was suffering from the dreaded "Blinded by My Own Genetics" syndrome into thinking that he was.
Sometimes I want to live in a vacuum, where there is no other kid but Charlie in my little world, just so I don't fall into the comparison game. The one-upmanship. The "My Kid is Better than Your Kid" -a-thon. Because when I look at Charlie, as he runs after bubbles, popping the ones that landed one by one with his tiny index finger, I want to shield him from all the judgments. I want him to know that it's okay - even more that okay - to be just who he is. And when parents pit their children against others, it seems as if they are seeking confirmation that their kid is better. And I know everyone does it - I do it too. It's difficult not to fall into that trap. But probably not impossible.
So we're changing things around here. We're getting him different toys to play with - paints, chalk - to stimulate different parts of his brain. We're keeping his favorite food - granola bars - on a higher shelf, so now he has to "ask" us for one rather than grab the box and shove it at us. We're modeling what we want from him verbally in the hopes he will copy us. And we made a promise to each other that we would not officially freak out about this until after his second birthday. Our doctor told us that he wouldn't even send him to a speech therapist until after he turned 2. "Don't worry about Charlie. He's fine. You both are doing great," he said.
In the meantime, we'll enjoy his made-up songs filled with made-up words. And we'll just enjoy him, just the way he is.
