“And what are Thomas’s strengths?” The Early Intervention coordinator asks. We are doing a pre-evaluation phone call before Tommy’s assessment next week.
I have the phone pinned against my cheek as I try to switch Tommy from one boob to the other.
“Huh?” I manage to get Tommy latched and reach to hold the phone with my right hand. “What do you mean? He’s not quite ten months old.”
“Yes, I know. Like, does he smile a lot? Sleep well? Eat well?”
“Oh. Um, sure. Yeah. All three of those.”
“Great. I’ll put that down.”
Later that evening Rob asks me how the call went. I tell him about the silly questions that have preceded his evaluation next week; I tell him about the stupid strengths question.
“How about his strength is that he is the most agreeable human being on the planet?” Rob says, “Have them put that down.”
***
The first night home from the hospital after Tommy is born, I can’t sleep. Rob snores softly next to me as I toss and turn. I keep sitting up, and looking over at the mesh bassinet where Tommy sleeps wrapped up like a little burrito in his Velcro swaddle. I lean over from my spot in bed, put my hand a few inches above his tiny perfect pink mouth, hovering it there until I feel a few breaths, remove it once I see his chest rise and fall in the muted darkness. I know I should be sleeping while Tommy is sleeping, but I sit here, waiting for him to wake so that I can put him on my melon breasts and feel his skin against mine. My mind is dizzy with adrenaline and I knew it is just hormones keeping me awake. It’s the same hormones that make me feel like I can cry because I love him so much, the same hormones that make me feel like I would jump in front of a freaking truck to protect him, the hormones that make the sheet underneath me moist with my night sweats. Just a few days ago, Tommy was inside me and it was all I wanted to get him out. And now my body is weeping blood into my own diaper and he is outside of me and I just want to hold him to me and never, ever let go.
***
I’m filling out the form at the pediatrician’s office at Tommy’s 9 month well check. The form lists different milestones and you have to check “all the time” “some of the time” or “not yet”.
I check “not yet” over and over and feel the pit in the bottom of my stomach grow larger by the time I hand the form back to the receptionist. It feels like I am a high school student handing over an exam I didn’t study for.
***
Everyone loves Tommy. What’s not to love? His soft, silky white blonde hair that crumples in the back where he lays on it. His happy smile, full of teeth half grown in. The way his blue eyes stare blankly, without judgment. His skin, still baby soft. The easy going temperament, his willingness to go with the flow. The way he looks like Auden, but also like George; how he makes all three of them look like brothers. He is just so easy to love.
***
I call my mom on the way home from Tommy’s checkup. I explain to her that the pediatrician says he is behind and that I should have him evaluated by Early Intervention to get him qualified for services. He should be babbling and he’s not; he should be crawling and he’s not. Some therapy should get him caught back up. It feels devastating when it shouldn’t.
I want my mom to tell me it’s okay, that it’s not my fault. I want her to tell me that every kid is different. I know all of those things but I want her to say it. I just want her to make me feel better.
“You don’t push him to crawl,” she says. “You don’t give him opportunities. You hold him too much.”
She means well.
***
I used to say that 7 months was my favorite age. My babies are so agreeable at 7 months…happy to sit and play and not yet mobile. Once Auden and George started crawling, life became more difficult. Tommy is ten months in three days and he is still happy to sit and play and not yet mobile. So, in a way, I’ve gotten an extension of my favorite age.
***
Auden and George both did Early Intervention for speech delays, so I know the drill. I know that Tommy will qualify for services. He’ll probably get evaluated for a speech and motor delay and qualify for both. I know the therapist will come to my house for free and work with him and I’ll feel a mixture of inferiority as a mother and fierce protection over how much progress he makes.
Perspective from his older brothers tells me it’s okay. I know every child is on their own timeline. Some kids are early, some are right on time, some are late, some are very late. It’s a bell curve and some kiddos are outliers. I know a delay is just a delay—he’ll get caught up. It’s not my fault. It’s more do to with his personality. I know all of this.
And yet. There’s a knot of worry that’s hard to shake.
***
I sit with Tommy on the floor after Rob leaves with the other two for school. I take sips of my coffee and read my Bible and devotional while pausing every three minutes to interact with him. He’s getting to the age where he does not appreciate being ignored. It’s getting harder and harder to do other things when he’s awake.
Ten minutes in, and he’s frustrated. I can tell he wants to move. I can tell that his brain is telling him he is not satisfied with sitting still anymore, but his brain can’t make the connection on how to fix that. He leans forward, twists his leg, gets stuck. I let him whine for a while until the whines turn into wails and then move him to his tummy. This does not help things. He still wants to move but can’t, so he grows frustrated and starts crying almost immediately. I make him try for a while and then sit him back up and pull him into my lap. I know his frustration is annoying for the both of us, but it’s necessary in small batches to push him to learn. He can’t be a baby forever. He has to grow. And he will. I know that. On his own time.
He sticks his thumb in his mouth and puts his other hand up to twist some of his hair. It’s his tell: he’s ready for a nap.
I scoop him up and head for the nursery. We settle into the rocker and he nurses adamantly for a while until his entire body relaxes and his sucks soften into rhythmic twitches in his sleep. I stare down at him, his beautiful face completely at rest against my breast. For a little while yet, I am still his ultimate comfort, his home, his safe place. And he is mine.
I am so sorry that these: “You don’t push him to crawl,” she says. “You don’t give him opportunities. You hold him too much.” were the words you heard in your moment of need. All babies do things in their own time. You have done NOTHING wrong.
My son did not sit alone until 8 months, did not crawl until the week of his first birthday, did not walk until 18 months. At 2, he is singing the whole alphabet song as well as every word of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, counting to 10 perfectly in English and Spanish and most of the teens in English. Not everyone’s “delay” is the same. It’s a baby version of talents, and I suppose Tommy will soon be chasing the older kids!