jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Elliot got the boot. Was told to hit the road. Don’t let the door hit you on the heinie, little guy.

He’s officially an early intervention graduate today.

Eight months ago my nearly-speechless baby would head butt me for attention. He still head butts me, but at the same time he will yell, “I bonk you, Mommy!” So, progress.

He also says things like, “Alden take my rocket ship!” and “I shoo the kitties. Shoo shoo kitties!!” and “I bite you nose? I bite you nose!!!”

Now that he can talk, he likes to narrate.

— I look at that race car, Mommy?

— I take it?

— I vroom it?

— I frow it?

He’s going to do those things no matter what I say, but he enjoys the Q&A.

We get so much joy hearing all the crazy things that have been swimming around in his brain. Now that the impediment has cracked open, it spills out all day every day. He called me at work the other day to tell me there are “zhombies in the dollhouse.”

His sensory issues faded to almost nothing over the time we were focusing on his speech. Sandy feet was a reason for a meltdown a year ago. Now, total non-event.

He still has some oddities that I expect to unfold and change, maybe coming on stronger and maybe fading away. Some of them, like military-precision toy aligning, feel comfortable to me because I know I did the same thing when I was a kid. His speech therapist offered to re-evaluate him in a few months to make sure he isn’t stalling or slipping. I’m going to take her up on that. The University of Tennessee speech therapy lab has been a wonderful resource for us.

Speaking of, Tennessee Early Intervention Services was the source of all this important assistance for our family. It’s free and all Tennessee families are eligible regardless of insurance or income. I had a heck of a time finding them, though, so let’s let Google help them help people.

For speech delay evaluation, speech therapy, developmental delays, motor skill delays, early intervention, cognitive delays, communication delays and adaptive delays, you can contact Tennessee Early Intervention Services (TEIS) at 1-800-852-7157

More information on eligibility can be found here.

Nearly six months ago, our speech therapist gave Elliot a hard-to-read evaluation. She tells me now that they felt fairly sure he was autistic, but wouldn’t have said that to us then. This whole time she refused to offer us any diagnosis, saying it is too early and he’s too young. Oh how I wanted a diagnosis. I wanted specificity so that I could customize our response, work up a battle plan, research resources. I asked her if she thought it might be apraxia. “Maybe,” was all she would say. In the meantime, we treated the symptoms without knowing the source. She was right, of course. Even at the time I acknowledged it, and I definitely didn’t want to get the “wrong” label and wind up going down an unhelpful road. It wouldn’t have been good for us or for Elliot had we heard, “There’s a good chance he’s autistic” at the outset.

Now after another battery of tests we have our official answer. Late talker.

Elliot’s speech appeared. And then it surged. Now, at just past two, he tells (terrible) knock knock jokes.

He tore through the tests (when he felt like it), and wound up at a much higher age level. I’m not going to invest in this idea that he’s now advanced, any more than I believed that he was in the first percentile half a year ago. He was behind, now he’s ahead. He’s always been fine.

I’m so grateful. Even it it’s the case that he never needed such intensive (or any) intervention. We’ll never know and that’s fine. A small group of talented, compassionate adults stepped right into our lives and got to work for no other reason than a baby needed some help. I feel like every person involved likes and cares about Elliot and our family. We don’t pay a penny for any of it. I know our tax dollars do, but since when does being the recipient of social services guarantee you any kind of respect or compassion?

He says a lot with his eyes.

There’s an interesting little something with Elliot and the way he communicates with and perceives the world. He still has a little sensory strangeness. Just a few weeks ago he refused to walk on a floor of highly-polished marble. He still doesn’t like sand on his feet, but he’s graduated from screaming to complaining. He lines up his toys by type and color. He loves toy stores because there he can line up the exact same toy, snaking them through the aisle until the supply runs out. He’s a quirky boy.

In our intake interview last March the woman asked us how Elliot’s delays were affecting his life. I told her honestly they were not. Her question, though, gave me clarity on exactly what I was looking for. It was help for Elliot before he was affected. I didn’t want him to get to preschool — a year and a half away — and struggle to communicate. He’s so cheerful and sweet, and I will go to some pretty great lengths to protect those qualities in him. Some day I’ll expect him to be resilient enough to maintain in the face of adversity, but maybe we could let him get out of diapers first.

I’ll keep watching, but soon I expect this period will fade from the front of our minds. We’ve agreed that Elliot’s therapy will stop at the end of this semester, in three weeks. We’ll let his in-home teacher go at the same time. I love them, but it isn’t right for us to insist on holding onto scarce services when someone else could be using them.

I’m so glad we did it. I’m so glad we’re finished.

I’ve asked myself, considering, if we really need to be going to speech therapy two times a week. It takes a hunk out of my work week, forcing me to work more at night to catch up. We schedule appointments pretty early to minimize the impact on my schedule, but that means we have to haul Elliot (and sometimes Alden) up and out. It’s kind of a long drive, in the opposite direction of my office. Our in-home teacher comes once a week, sometimes upsetting the nap apple cart and leaving us with a cranky baby for the rest of the evening. Elliot’s on track developmentally, which is what I’ve said I want all along. So why will we keep going?

This is why.

Good now doesn’t mean good always. I don’t feel ready to let go of the help. I hope I’ll know when, but I’m sure it’s not now.

Elliot In Speech Therapy

Imagine that I am whispering. If it wouldn’t be annoying I would type this in a teeny font.

Elliot is talking.

Actually, let me say this… ELLIOT IS TALKING! That’s right, I went all caps lock.

Still, I am afraid of saying too much too soon. If you can think of anyone for whom hubris worked out be sure to let me know.

For so long it was a whole lot of not much. Then suddenly it was “school bus” and “walrus” and “palm tree.” It was as if he got his teeth into a simple sentence or two and was thrilled by the effects of his communication. Now he can identify all the letters in the alphabet and the sounds they make. Now he can say the names of all the Pixar Cars.

His speech therapist told me how worried they were when they met him. She felt he was likely autistic. He scored below the first percentile on expressive language. I didn’t even know that was possible. I spent weeks researching. A guy on a plane told me about a special school in Atlanta, just for boys with language problems. I took notes.

Now, I don’t know what to think. His speech is still hard to understand. His therapist wants to keep him. It’s obviously helping and he loves going. That’s an easy decision.

She says the average 2-year-old has about 200 words. Elliot has more than that now. Can you believe it? Because I cannot. I swear they all came in a rush… 5, 10, 15 new words a day.

All I’ve wanted is for him to catch up to where he should be. I know that some people (who love us and are awesome) will celebrate that he appears to be “normal” now. I think it’s too soon to draw conclusions. And Elliot has always been as normal as he needs to be. I’m not any happier with him now. But happy for him? My heart sings.