Ground Zero

I am a bad mother.  I am a lazy mother.  I am the reason my 2-year-old son is still not talking.

The pediatrician is just wrapping up the 2-year-old Well Visit with kindly-meant words that include 'speech therapy' and 'early intervention,' but those three things are all that keep flashing through my head.

I am a bad mother.  I am a lazy mother.  I am the reason my 2-year-old son is still not talking.

I blame myself because there's no one else to blame.  I'm the stay-at-home mom.  My job description is simple.  Take care of my house, take care of my husband, and, most of all, take care of my child.  I have failed somehow.

I've never been one of 'those' mothers whose every waking moment is spent reciting nursery rhymes and quizzing with flashcards.  I've never felt the need to be that mom because my son is brilliant.  He understands everything we tell him.  He's a good listener and generally does what is asked of him.  And he knows words.  I know he knows them.  I've heard him say them.

'Banana'
'Yay'
'Uh oh'
'Milk'
'Hello'
'Hi'
'Bye'
'Apple'
'Thank You'
'I love you'
'Here'

I've heard all of these things from my son, but he always regresses back to babbling and gibberish as though he had never discovered any of them.

I've told myself to be patient as I watch children months younger than him excelling in expressive language.  I've told myself that every child develops differently.  Somehow it's different now.  He's two now.  So in the absence of noticeable improvement, I have decided to become THAT mom.  This blog will serve to track our progress as we delve into piles of board books, wade through stacks of flashcards and embrace repitition.  Repitition.  Repitition.

Two Years Old.