This is a strange bittersweet thing to write. But then again I suppose much of parenthood is, almost by definition, about the strange and unexpected convocation of emotions.
Some of you may know already that I have been pressing to have Liam evaluated for delayed communication. Many people have told me not to worry, or that there is nothing wrong with him, or that I am over-reacting and he will develop in his own sweet time. At times, I have doubted myself, because I certainly don't want to be some infant version of the soccer mom incessantly pushing him at all times. But I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right.
In lots of areas he seemed on, or at least keeping pace with his due date (in which his "adjusted age" will be one year in five days). He was crawling well, pulling up, scooting around on furniture, and showing every sign of interest in walking soon. He uses his little fingers to manipulate small objects. Cognitively, he seemed like a little baby engineer (with perhaps a speciality in hydraulics): he can turn on the faucet, make the tub go from faucet to shower, flush the toilet, turn off and on the light switch, turn on Terry's XBOX on the console or using the remote, turn on the television with the remote, and make the phone's ringer volume go up by pushing a button.
But for the life of me, he does not show signs of communication. I have been doing baby signs with him since he was 7 months old. Terry and his other caregivers do as well. We consistently sign "milk" "eat" "more" and "all done." I have now been doing this for six months. He shows not an indication in the world that he either understands the signs or wants to sign them back. (Though I should mention that terry swears that last night he signed milk back to terry before his good night sippy cup of milk).
He does not seem to understand any verbal communication, though he does react to the words "no" and "Liam." But other children his age seem to be displaying an increasing understanding of a variety of nouns, which they show by their reactions or movement (looking towards the book, crawling towards the book, showing a facial expression at the mention of the word book). Liam is attentive to people when they talk, but the content of what they say doesn't seem to produce any variation in the expression of that attention.
So it was with all that on my heart that I pressed our pediatrician to submit him for evaluation in the Tennessee early intervention program. In the initial short screening, he showed that he was delayed on communication, but doing fine on everything else. So he went forward for a full evaluation. The caseworker just called today to tell me that his evaluation shows him to be 40% delayed in communication, but on target for everything else.
The good news is that 40% is the magic number that means we will qualify for TEIS to pay for his therapy services. Which I suppose it far better than finding out that your kid is 38% delayed, and so wont qualify for state aid to help cover the therapy services. But it is a horribly bittersweet thing personally. I pushed for this because if my son needs it, I want him to have everything he can have to enable him to be the best Liam he can be. But as his mother my heart is so very heavy and sad and guilty to have in front of me objective "proof" that he is developmentally delayed. Somehow I want soon to feel free of the terrible burden of guilt that I felt when he was born early, when my body betrayed us both and I couldn't keep him in for as long as he needed to do the developing he should have done. And most days I don't feel the heavy burden of that guilt the way I felt it in the early days. But now it is weighing on me again, because somewhere between his preemie start and whatever nurturing I have given him, it just wasn't enough, and so somehow both of those things feel like my fault.
I felt such a strange mix of emotions hearing her tell me he was 40% delayed, and that she was going to come by the house on friday so we could set goals for his next year and talk about getting "services" in to help him reach those goals. And I was so happy for him that he will get all the help he needs and that I don't have to worry that he needs help but we can't afford to pay for it privately. And it wasn't until later, calling to tell my mom the news, that my chin started quivering and my voice broke and I cried a little. I suppose I wasn't really crying for Liam, I'm not sure he knows yet what he is missing. And he's such a happy little guy. So maybe I was just being selfish and crying for myself. Because more than anything I want to know this little person. I want to know what he thinks about, and what he wants. I want to understand him and let him understand the world around him, and understand me.
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