There are countless debates surrounding the reasons why some children don’t speak. The reality remains that my son, at the age of three, has not uttered a word. Initially, he was deemed “normal” as an infant, and later labeled a “late bloomer.” I loathed that term. Who decides the appropriate time for a child to “bloom”? Who’s to say he hasn’t already?
At two and a half, while other kids were chattering away, my son remained quiet. Parents often gathered to boast about their children’s vocabulary achievements. “Ten Words!” one parent would declare, while another would whisper, “Five words.” I would stand there, feeling the weight of their judgments as my son played in silence.
“Are you ready to go?” I would ask, but he would just look at me with his big brown eyes, waiting patiently for my attention. A slight tug on my bag and a soft sound finally broke through the stillness. It was a small victory, and I smiled back at him.
We sat together as he sipped his juice, observing the chaos around us. Suddenly, a confrontation broke out among some children on the playground, and I felt him tense beside me. In that moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the noise. I noticed the other parents glance over, their expressions filled with disdain—perhaps feeling superior because their children were “normal.”
As night fell, my son was calm again, nestled in my arms. In the stillness of our home, he would begin to murmur, his soft sounds reminiscent of whispered words. I would listen closely through the baby monitor, yearning for the day he would speak aloud.
The next morning, I was jolted awake by a low growl beside my bed—his way of telling me I had overslept. “Go play, I’ll be up soon,” I replied, and I heard the gentle patter of his feet. He never made a sound when he woke up, but somehow, he always knew when to get my attention.
Later, as I stumbled out of bed, I heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Rushing in, I found him standing amidst the wreckage of a carton of eggs, his body trembling in fear. I held him close, whispering reassurances as he calmed down. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
As we navigated doctor appointments and therapy sessions, I was confronted with various labels for his condition, but deep down, we understood the truth—there were no words to explain our experience. Speaking his truth could only bring us pain.
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In summary, raising a nonverbal child presents unique challenges. The journey is often filled with moments of frustration, fear, and ultimately, profound love and understanding. Through it all, we learn to communicate in ways beyond words, forging a bond that transcends traditional forms of expression.