The Disability Blogger Weekend Linkup: Your posts are boo-tiful!

What to do if you're new  

This is a place to share a recent favorite post you've written or read. Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post. Where it says "Your name" put the name of the blog followed by the title of the post you want to share (or just the name of the post, if there's no room—you get 80 characters).

Like this: Love That Max: The ghosts in the pediatrician's exam room

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The ghosts in the pediatrician's exam room

This week, I took Ben for his annual checkup. We haven't been to the pediatrician a lot this past year and a half; being home a lot, masks and boatloads of sanitizer means nobody's getting sick as much. Ever ponder how infrequently your children washed their hands before all this started?! I do.

As we waited (and waited) in the exam room for the doctor to show up (some of you may recall I have Feelings about the waits at this practice) and Ben stared at my phone (proven whining antidote), I looked around and could not believe that I've been coming here for 18 years. And yes, that's the math—Max is going to be 19 in a couple of months. NINETEEN. 

I stared at the baby scale and couldn't believe any of my children were ever tiny enough to fit on it.

I stared at the standing scale and remembered what it was like to hold up Max's tiny body when he wasn't able to balance himself on it.

I could practically hear Max's sobs in the room—until he was around 5 or 6, he couldn't handle coming here (or, really, anywhere).  

I could viscerally feel the anxiety that flooded through me when I'd come for for Max's checkups. I dreaded talking about developmental stuff, because Max was so far behind and it took me a long time to realize that he was on his own unique curve. 

I remembered sitting on the crinkly paper, as I held Max in my arms, tears flowing as the kindly pediatrician tried to give me hope.  

Ben's doc came in. Check, check, check, check—he's doing great. 

I looked at the measuring tape poking out of her pocket. Max did not like the feel of it being wrapped around his head. For me, it was a whole other kind of torture—the small size of his head (microcephaly was a result of his stroke) made me terrified for his future. I mean, pretty much everything made me terrified about what the future held for my beautiful boy but getting the cold hard stats about the diminished size of his brain sank me. Now I know that it was no prediction of just how amazing Max would turn out. 

Ben brought me back to the present.

"You want to see my muscles?" he asked the doctor, and he flexed and she said "You're strong!" and I smiled. 

"It's my birthday!" he informed her. (It was the previous week). "I'm SIX!" 

"You're getting old," she agreed.

After the doctor left, I sat down next to Ben on the exam room table to wait for the medical assistant to do a vision check. He leaned into me and I felt the warmth of his little body. And suddenly, once again, it was just the two of us in that exam room. The ghosts had gone. 

The Disability Blogger Weekend Link-up: Here we go

What to do if you're new  

This is a place to share a recent favorite post you've written or read. Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post. Where it says "Your name" put the name of the blog followed by the title of the post you want to share (or just the name of the post, if there's no room—you get 80 characters).

Like this: Love That Max: Someone's child has a speech delay—do you say something? 

Where it says "Your URL" put the direct link to the post.

Click "Enter." Leave a comment if you want to say more. Go check out some great posts.

The Disability Blogger Weekend Link-up: post it!

What to do if you're new  

This is a place to share a recent favorite post you've written or read. Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post. Where it says "Your name" put the name of the blog followed by the title of the post you want to share (or just the name of the post, if there's no room—you get 80 characters).

Like this: Love That Max: Someone's child has a speech delay—do you say something? 

Where it says "Your URL" put the direct link to the post.

Click "Enter." Leave a comment if you want to say more. Go check out some great posts.

Someone's child has a speech delay—do you say something?

An adorable little girl I know who's almost 3 years old has a very limited vocabulary—just a few words, and no sentences. She loves singing the ABC song, though she doesn't clearly articulate letters. Her comprehension is good, and she can communicate with nods and gestures. 

This has weighed on my mind. Should I say something? What could I even say? I'm not that close with the parents. Of course, this kid may already be getting therapy; a pediatrician would be well aware of the issues. But as a parent who 18 years' worth of experience with speech delays, I have ached to speak up.

The stigma surrounding developmental delays has eased up in recent years. Still, some parents are hesitant to get their kid therapy. Sometimes they're in denial. Perhaps they figure their child will grow out of it. It's possible they don't want labels imposed on their child. All of this can make the topic so difficult to broach and talk about.

It shouldn't be that way—delays and disabilities are nothing to be ashamed of. But here we are in 2021, and that's still a thing. If this parent had hesitations, I wanted to gently encourage her to get her child help and connect her with a therapist I trusted for an evaluation. I wanted to share my wisdom. At the heart of it all, I wanted to help her child. 

If you see something, say something?

But who am I to say something?

But if I don't say something, am I doing a child an injustice? 

Years ago, I held an 11-month-old in my arms and my Spidey senses kicked in. The tot had low muscle tone and didn't make eye contact. I mentioned to a mutual friend that these could be signs of autism, even as I doubted myself: What if that baby was just very mellow? My friend hadn't noticed, and I never said anything. Months later, the child was diagnosed with autism and started getting services, and I felt guilty for not having said anything. 

And here I was, again.  

Then one day, as the mom and I were chatting, the little girl walked over to us, said "all" for "ball" and her mom handed one to her.

"When Max was her age, he couldn't say that," I mentioned. 

She nodded.

"Speech therapy really helped him come along!" I said. "Max has had the same therapist since he was a little guy."

She nodded again.

Silence.  

She didn't want to go there, and that was fine.

Speaking from personal experience had been a way to start the conversation. It opened the door, should she choose to enter. Maybe she still will. 

The Disability Blogger Weekend Link-up is excited to have you

What to do if you're new  

This is a place to share a recent favorite post you've written or read. Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post. Where it says "Your name" put the name of the blog followed by the title of the post you want to share (or just the name of the post, if there's no room—you get 80 characters).

Like this: Love That Max: The thing about the red nail polish

Where it says "Your URL" put the direct link to the post.

Click "Enter." Leave a comment if you want to say more. Go check out some great posts.

Get ready, it's the Disability Blogger Weekend Link-up

What to do if you're new  

This is a place to share a recent favorite post you've written or read. Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post. Where it says "Your name" put the name of the blog followed by the title of the post you want to share (or just the name of the post, if there's no room—you get 80 characters).

Like this: Love That Max: The thing about the red nail polish

Where it says "Your URL" put the direct link to the post.

Click "Enter." Leave a comment if you want to say more. Go check out some great posts.