Lucky Day!

So, have I mentioned that Ben has a brain that works a bit differently than the norm? Of course not, this is just my 3rd post! This is a weird topic to just jump into, but in order to appreciate the story, you're gonna need some background. I figured that was as good a way as any to introduce the topic, as awkward as it is.

Hmm, where to begin? Well, let's just say that although Ben's language development has always been within the typical range, his interest in language as communication has not nearly been as prominent as his interest in language as "interesting sounds". Ben's first word was not "duck", but "quack". It took so long I thought he might never call me "Mama". The sounds things make are, and always have been, very exciting. The vacuum is a delight, car/truck noises thrill, silly sound effects (brrrrr with quivering lips for example) are often hilarious.

We used Baby Sign with Ben when he was wee and he was a champ at communicating with his tiny little hands. That's him signing "moon" which was, as it is sometimes, out during the day. Spoken language seemed to come more slowly, but not dramatically so, especially since he could tell us so much *without* actual speech. When he did have that "language explosion" that so many children do around age 2, it was an explosion of nouns. Labeling his environment was a primary goal. But, the labels weren't used as a 'conversation starter'. He wasn't interested, necessarily, in sharing his observations with you, just in naming for naming's sake. Numbers and Letters were of particular interest and walking around the block took ages as he would have to toddle up to each house number on the block to touch and name the numbers there.

As Ben grew during his 2nd year, it became more clear to me that he was not picking up the subtle rules and nuances within spoken conversation. His social interactions were awkward. He would repeat things over and over. He required prompting to answer simple questions. It was obvious to me that his learning style was rote memorization, learning pat answers, to participate in conversations. His vocabulary was large and growing, but mostly consisted of 'sound bytes'.

All of this is much more clear to me now that Ben is older.
During this time I constantly questioned myself about whether this was within the range of typical development. Maybe I'm overanalyzing things due to my experience with special needs kids in the classroom. Maybe this is okay for a Two. Maybe it's not okay when language presents itself like this *still* at Three. Maybe I ought to get a professional opinion.

And so, I did. Sort of. We switched insurance plans in the Fall and the new plan did not cover Ben's physical therapy. The only way we could continue (and have it paid for) was if he qualified for the SC state early intervention program. The case worker who came to our home was very nice. She observed Ben play, she interviewed me, and added up all the numbers. He didn't qualify. At all. Not physically, not developmentally, not cognitively. I wasn't exactly devastated. I had had doubts as to the efficacy of the PT on Ben's muscle strength (once a week, walk up these stairs--ta da--therapy!) And my observations of the speech therapists where we went for PT were not very impressive. And the problem was so not 'speech' as in the formation of sounds and words, but the understanding of language. Which just can't be addressed appropriately in a tiny cubicle with an unfamiliar adult with flash cards. Really, it can't.

I decided to wait until Ben was Three. Then I would know for sure. Because I *know* Three. I'm an expert on Threes. Almost 10 years in the classroom with Threes--all kinds of Threes--would help me decide if MY Three was neurotypical or not. It was silly, really. Who was I kidding? I KNEW Ben better than anybody. And I had KNOWN since he was a baby. But, it's a big thing to admit, I think. A big thing to admit to yourself, more than anybody else, that your Baby is DIFFERENT. It's not like I kept all of this pondering to myself. I talked about it a lot. My family knew I had concerns. My close friends listened to all my stories and thoughts about it. Mark could practically be an early childhood special ed consultant with all the information I had loaded him up with since Ben's birth. Yet. I didn't want to think about it until Ben was Three. There would be plenty of time then to research, investigate, make decisions, deal.

So, life continued on. We supported Ben's learning style as we always had. With prompts and cues, practiced routines, turn-taking games, language expansion--special ed. techniques that come naturally and would have whether or not we knew the special ed. jargon to describe it. As parents, you just 'do' these things. I'm sure my background helped, but I don't give it higher billing than the natural instinct you are given when you become a mother.

Ben will be three-and-a-half soon. He loves books and stories (he always has). He loves music and singing and has become a regular performer when the video camera is on. He plays with his little brother and recently began initiating pretend play scenerios. He still has trouble interpreting novel conversation and relies heavily on learned 'scripts' and pat answers when interacting with others. We see growth every day and each tiny step towards understanding his world makes me want to cheer. We've begun researching intervention options. We've grown more comfortable with the terms that describe him. He hasn't been officially "diagnosed" with anything at this point. I question the value of a "diagnosis", even as I know how much that label could help out. And by "help" I mean strictly monetarily. Early Intervention is paid for federally or by the state as long as you 'qualify' with a 'diagnosis'. I'm waiting until we move to decide on that.

Okay, so that was an awful lot of backstory. Way more than anticipated. I can see this blog business is not going to help me with my brevity in writing issues...

Anyway, on to the story:
Every morning, the boys get vitamins--fish oil which they lap up from the spoon like candy and a couple of chewable multivites that are in the shape of jungle animals. There are lions, elephants, hippos, and tigers. The tigers do not look like tigers. They look like cats. And they are the favoritest shape around here. Every morning Ben will ask for a 'cat' vitamin. I refuse to dig through the bottle for specific animal shapes and instead let the cards (vitamins) fall as they may when I shake them into my hand. I tell Ben, "we'll see" "maybe it will be a cat, maybe not" and if there happens to be a cat, I'll tell him "well, hey, it's your lucky day!" And so it goes, every morning. It's one of a million routine exchanges that make up Ben's day. There is some unexpectedness (which vite shape will it be?), but the words that describe it, that make it 'safe' are the same. Language from one routine does not usually transfer to another. They are seperate entities and have their own 'script'. It is a rare and wonderful thing when Ben will say something out of typical context, but appropriate for another. Case in point. The boys were sitting at the table awaiting me to finish up dinner prep and serve their meal. I had given them a handful of raisins to tide them over. Dinner contains the usual, Ben saying superfastgrace, food on the floor, me getting up half a dozen times for more water, more food, a washrag... I recap our day, we talk about our plans for the next. Later, after dinner, Ben is climbing down from his chair, he reaches into the folds of his shirt, pulls something out and practically shouts "it's a lucky day!" I am puzzled and look at his beaming face. It is not breakfast time. It is certainly not a vitamin. It is half an hour after lots of conversation. He has a huge grin on his face and is triumphantly holding up a raisin. A "lucky day," indeed.