My son Jamie had met all his developmental milestones, except for one: speech. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s assessment regarding Jamie’s language delay was one of the hardest days of my life. As a parent of a child with special needs, I will never forget that moment. I could hear the therapist’s voice, but it felt like I was in a fog, my heart heavy with disappointment. It took me several days to process it. With a toddler and a baby at home, I knew I needed to pull myself together and create an action plan for the parent I aspired to be. So, I jotted it down in my planner.
Challenge:
Jamie isn’t speaking.
Plan of Action:
- Explore all avenues! Engage Jamie in conversation at every opportunity, even when it seems he isn’t paying attention. Teach him about the world around us during car rides. Count streetlights (he loved those) and identify trains.
- Educate myself. I refused to let another doctor or therapist suggest I wasn’t doing enough. I would be the most informed parent they ever encountered.
- I’m in the driver’s seat. The therapists, doctors, and teachers are part of our team, but I’m the one steering this bus. I can do this!
I vividly recall the day a local school district evaluator visited to discuss her thoughts that Jamie may have Asperger’s. She even suggested I wasn’t engaging with him enough. “Do you get down on the floor and play with him?” she asked. Did I? I thought I did, but I couldn’t remember clearly anymore. It felt like a punch to the gut. Why is it always the mother who bears the blame? I was furious.
After her visit, I researched Asperger’s online, and it didn’t fit Jamie at all. Kids with Asperger’s typically develop language skills on time, while Jamie had around 15 words, many of which were from his own invented language. The question of whether I played with him enough haunted me. Nothing feels sufficient when grappling with feelings of parental inadequacy (which I now know I wasn’t experiencing, but it was hard to believe back then).
Seeking a little retail therapy, I headed to the Gap and bought a new pair of blue jeans. These jeans would serve a purpose: I promised to wear them every time I got down on the floor to play with Jamie. They weren’t just any jeans; they became a symbol of my commitment to supporting my son through his Developmental Language Disorder. Jamie faced significant challenges with both expressive and receptive language, landing in the 2nd percentile for his age. Yet, I could see his eagerness to learn and communicate.
Every day, we played with his train set, focusing on Thomas the Train. We practiced sharing toys, and I modeled language through our interactions. I wanted him to be able to ask for water or express when he was hungry. We spent countless hours in the kitchen, combining sign language with spoken words for essentials like “water,” “eat,” and “more.”
I made it a point not to let speech goals overwhelm me. Instead, I crafted my own objectives based on Jamie’s needs and frustrations. I believed that alleviating his frustration could expedite his growth. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, let’s emphasize personal requests where he can ask for what he needs. We’ll model the exchange multiple times. The key is to avoid frustrating him—just model, repeat, and then provide him with the item. He’ll catch on!”
We began with simple requests for water, progressed to food, toys, and eventually incorporated his interests. I also found ways to introduce reading, shapes, colors, and the alphabet. One of Jamie’s first words was “frappuccino”—a little guilty pleasure of mine during tough days.
On our way to speech therapy, I counted streetlight poles aloud. Then, one day, to my utter surprise, he began counting along with me. I burst into tears. That meant everything to me; it was a milestone I had long awaited. It confirmed that my conversations with myself during car rides were not in vain. Initially, achieving one goal took about two months, but as time went on, we were hitting new targets every two weeks.
Six months after purchasing my jeans, I noticed they were starting to fade at the knees. A couple of months later, they ripped. I continued to wear those torn jeans until Jamie’s next speech evaluation. As his therapist reviewed his progress over the past year, I reflected on my own journey and the holes in my jeans. Those rips represented hard work and dedication.
I eventually bought another pair and repeated the process six more times, keeping the old jeans as trophies for each milestone achieved. I often advise other parents of children with Developmental Language Disorder to buy a new pair of jeans and spend quality time playing with their child. While the outcomes of therapy and play are unpredictable, you can still cherish the moments spent together, even if it means putting holes in your jeans.
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Summary:
This article shares the personal journey of a mother, Lisa, as she navigates her son Jamie’s speech delay. After receiving a discouraging assessment from a therapist, she resolves to take an active role in Jamie’s development by engaging him in play. A pair of jeans symbolizes her commitment to this process, marking milestones and encouraging growth. Through creative play and modeling language, Lisa transforms her approach to parenting, embracing the challenges of Developmental Language Disorder while fostering a deeper connection with her son.