My son, Jake, reached all his developmental milestones except for his speech. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s report indicating Jake’s language delay was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever faced. Every parent of a child with special needs remembers that first report. I can still hear the therapist’s words, but in that moment, my heart felt heavy, and I struggled to absorb any information. It took me days to find my footing again. With a two-and-a-half-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter depending on me, I knew I had to regroup and devise a plan for the mother I aspired to be. So, I started jotting things down in my planner.
Problem:
Jake is not speaking.
Solution:
- Explore every option! Talk to Jake constantly, even if it seems like he’s not paying attention. Discuss things during car rides, count streetlights (he was fascinated by streetlights and trains).
- Conduct thorough research. Never let another doctor or therapist suggest I’m not doing enough. I will be the most informed parent they’ve ever encountered.
- I am in charge of this journey; the therapists, doctors, and teachers are part of my team, but I’m behind the wheel. I can handle this!
I vividly recall the day the local school district’s diagnostician visited our home and suggested that Jake might have Autism Spectrum Disorder. She also implied I wasn’t engaging with him sufficiently, asking, “Do you get down on the floor and play with him?” Did I? I thought I did, but I couldn’t remember clearly anymore. I felt crushed. Why does the mother always carry the blame? My frustration was palpable.
After her visit, I turned to the Internet to learn about Autism. The description didn’t resonate with my son; kids with Autism typically develop speech on time, while Jake had a limited vocabulary of around 15 words, many of which were his own creations. So, her assessment was incorrect. Did I play with him enough? Nothing felt satisfactory when I perceived myself as failing as a parent—although, in reality, I wasn’t.
In need of a pick-me-up, I went to Gap and bought a new pair of blue jeans. These jeans would serve a purpose: I vowed to wear them every time I got down on the floor to engage with Jake. They were not merely “Mommy jeans”; they symbolized my commitment to addressing my son’s Developmental Language Disorder. Jake was struggling with both expressive and receptive language, sitting in the 2nd percentile for his age. Yet, I could see his eagerness to learn and communicate.
We began our journey at the train table, playing with Thomas the Train daily. I modeled questions and provided answers, hoping he would learn to ask for water or express hunger. Our kitchen became a space for practicing sign language alongside spoken words for items like water, food, and more.
Rather than letting speech goals overwhelm me, I set my own, tailored to his needs and frustrations. Easing his frustration would lead to quicker progress. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, we will focus on personal exchanges where he requests things. Let’s model the exchange until he understands, without adding any frustration.” We started with water, then moved to food and toys, incorporating his interests. Along the way, I managed to sneak in reading sight words, shapes, colors, and the ABCs. One of his first words? “Frappuccino.” Yes, I admit, Starbucks got me through some tough times.
During our car rides to speech therapy, I began counting streetlight poles. One day, unexpectedly, Jake joined in. I was overwhelmed with emotion and cried tears of joy. That milestone was something I had been longing for. Initially, it took about two months to achieve one goal, but after a year, we managed to accomplish goals in just two weeks.
Six months after purchasing my jeans, I noticed they were starting to wear out at the knees. Two months later, they ripped. I wore those distressed jeans proudly until Jake’s next speech evaluation. As his therapist reviewed his progress, I reflected on my own journey and the holes in my jeans. Those holes represented my dedication and effort!
I soon bought another pair of jeans and repeated this process six more times. I’ve kept most of the holey jeans as trophies for each milestone achieved. I often advise other mothers navigating Developmental Language Disorder to buy a new pair of jeans and get down on the floor to play with their child. While the outcome of therapy and play is uncertain, the joy of bonding with your child and creating memories is invaluable—even if it means putting holes in your jeans.
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Summary
This article details how a mother’s emotional journey regarding her son’s speech delay transformed through playful engagement, symbolized by her jeans. By creating a supportive environment for her son Jake, she not only fostered his language development but also learned to embrace the challenges of motherhood.