The Family Room

Communication Skills: Slow to Develop or Delayed?

By Jordan Sadler, SLP

New parents look forward to their child’s first words with great anticipation.  We want to hear that cute little voice, and start to understand better what our child is thinking about.  We dream about how easy parenting will be when our child is able to tell us what he wants with words rather than cries.

But what does it mean when the child in your life is the last one in the playgroup to utter those first words?  What if you are the only one who understands those first words?  What if he starts to stutter all of a sudden at age 3?  And what about that 1st grader who is still lisping? When is it normal and when does it require remediation?  How do we know when we should become more concerned?

“Einstein didn’t talk until he was four,” well-meaning people are fond of saying.  Then there’s the other playground stand-by, “He’s a boy--boys are slower than girls to talk.”  And finally we have the pediatrician’s response, “Let’s just wait and see,” which does many children a huge disservice because it delays critical early intervention so often.

So how do we know? 

Highs and Lows

So we went to the zoo again yesterday, lunch packed, all sorts of best intentions, and you know what? He hated it. HATED IT. Didn't want to see the animals, didn't want to do much of anything, in fact, but sink to the ground and wail, "Naaaaah!!!" Was it the heat? (It was pretty hot, after all.) Was it the subtle (or not so?) pressure of a "fun day out?" Was it just a bad moon phase? Dunno. So we left after much heroic effort to have fun, drove down the hill and went for ice-cream and a walk closer to home. And you know what? Fantastic mood for the rest of the day: giddy, silly, loving, talkative, the whole bit. If only we could parse out these $#@!#$ moods and see what they mean.

Three hallmarks of this current phase, at age 4 years, 0 months: obstinacy, limit testing and joke cracking (of a sort). Is it possible we're in early puberty?

My Mid-Year's Resolution

A few weeks ago, I was having brunch with a friend and we got onto the topic of therapy overload--not just our kids' but, well, ours actually. We weren't talking about the number of therapies we do, or the scheduled hours, or the team meetings and emails and infinite details of our kids' programs. We were talking about the inexorable feeling that no matter what we do, we're never completely "off the clock." Every moment--a bath, a meal, a trip to the store--is a learning opportunity waiting to be fulfilled, and every moment we're not alert to the therapeutic possibilities feels wasted, and then we feel guilty and worried, and like bad parents, and you know what? That's a load of bollocks, as the English would say.

This summer, owing to the vagaries of our lives, Isaac will have a little less therapy, a lot more Daddy time, and about the same Mommy time, but there will be one other important change. I promise that we will do a lot more living in the moment, and a little less obsessing about the therapeutic potential of each of those moments. He will be a kid, we will be his parents, there will be mistakes and messes and simple tasks and pleasures, and he will learn and grow and have fun, and it will all be just fine.

And the next time someone says, "just find twenty minutes in the day to...." I will smile politely, and consider it, and then take a deep breath and whisper to myself: "This is a marathon, not a sprint. This is a marathon, Susan, not a sprint. It's going to be okay."

So, are you with me?