My son, Alex, reached all his developmental milestones except for one: speech. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s report about Alex’s language delay was devastating. No parent of a child with special needs forgets that moment. I remember the therapist’s words, but I felt numb, as if my heart had dropped into my stomach. It took me days to bounce back. With a toddler and a baby at home, I knew I had to refocus and create a plan. So, I jotted down my thoughts in my planner.
Issue:
Alex isn’t talking.
Plan:
- Communicate constantly with Alex, even when he seems uninterested. Explain things during car rides and count streetlights—his favorite!
- Research diligently. Don’t let any doctor or therapist imply that I’m not doing enough. Be the most informed parent they encounter.
- I’m in control of this journey. The therapists and doctors are part of the team, but I’m the one steering the bus. I can handle this!
I vividly remember when the school district’s diagnostician suggested that Alex might have Asperger’s. She even questioned whether I played with him enough, asking if I got down on the floor with him. Did I? I thought so, but doubts crept in. It felt as if I had been hit with a ton of bricks. Why does it always seem like the mother is at fault? I was furious.
After she left, I researched Asperger’s online. It didn’t match Alex. Children with Asperger’s typically speak on time, whereas Alex had around 15 words—many of which were in his own invented language. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy.
To lift my spirits, I decided to indulge in some retail therapy and bought a new pair of jeans. I made a commitment to wear these jeans every time I played with Alex on the floor. They became more than just jeans; they represented my dedication to helping him overcome his Developmental Language Disorder. Alex was in the 2nd percentile for his age in terms of expressive and receptive language, but I saw his eagerness to learn and communicate.
We began playing with his train set daily, using Thomas the Train as our focal point. I modeled questions and answers, aiming for him to ask for water or indicate when he was hungry. We spent hours in the kitchen practicing sign language alongside the spoken words for water, food, and more.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the speech goals, I created my own based on Alex’s needs and frustrations. Easing his struggles would lead to quicker growth. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, let’s focus on personal exchanges where he can ask for what he needs. We’ll model it repeatedly without any frustration.”
We started with simple requests for water, then expanded to food, toys, and subjects that captured his interest. I also incorporated reading sight words, colors, shapes, and the alphabet. One of his first words? “Frappuccino.” Yes, I confess—Starbucks got me through some challenging days.
I would count streetlight poles on our way to therapy, and then one day, out of nowhere, Alex started counting with me. I was overwhelmed with emotion; I had waited so long for that moment. It proved that my seemingly odd habit of talking to myself in the car was worth it. Initially, one goal took about two months to achieve, but by the end of the year, we were accomplishing goals in about two weeks.
Six months after purchasing my jeans, I noticed they were fading at the knees. Two months later, they ripped. I wore those torn jeans proudly until Alex’s next speech evaluation. As his therapist reviewed his progress, I reflected on my own journey and the significance of the holes in my jeans. They were a testament to my hard work.
I soon bought another pair of jeans and repeated the process six more times. I’ve kept most of the holey jeans as trophies for each milestone we reached. I often advise new parents of children with Developmental Language Disorder to invest in a new pair of jeans and get on the floor to play with their child. While the outcomes of therapy and playtime are unpredictable, it’s essential to enjoy the moments and embrace the journey—especially if it means putting holes in your jeans.
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In summary, through the journey of supporting my son’s speech development, I learned that every little effort counts. My jeans became symbols of our milestones, reminding me of our resilience and determination.