"Oh my god, I'm stuck in the same position" ~ Cults
Why must I continue to give myself a mental smackdown every time something goes wrong with my children? Is this the curse of mothers -- to constantly feel like it's my fault, like I could have done something to prevent this? Like I'm not cut out for this parenting stuff? Or perhaps it's just the curse of this blog. It is named Flyrish Foibles after all.
The latest issue arose at Q's preschool parent-teacher conference. His teachers believe he is lagging behind in his speech development. And it totally makes sense that they'd notice this. I think I got used to him falling behind in all of his milestones since he was a tiny thing (not crawling until 13 months, not walking until 17 months), so the fact that he wasn't using full sentences didn't concern me too much. But then I noticed how his 19-month-old friend seemed so close to his verbal level, and while she is somewhat advanced for her age, it still made me take note of Q's speech. And now that his teachers are recommending a visit with a speech therapist for an evaluation, I know it's more than just a hunch. So of course my first thought was where did I go wrong? Have I not been speaking clearly to him? Have I been letting him watch too much Yo Gabba Gabba? Did I pass something on genetically that has disrupted that part of his brain development?
Ugh, the self-blame and feelings of guilt are exhausting. And you know what? I'm sick of beating myself up. My kids are clearly my priority. Isn't that what matters when it comes down to it? If they weren't at the forefront of my brain 98% of the time, then there would be at least a couple more fashion and music posts on this blog, yes? I am so done with feeling like a failure of a mom.
I want to do everything I can to give Q the tools to succeed in life. I will take him to a speech therapist if that's what he needs. We will do all we can at home to foster his verbal skills. I'll stop with the "kind nums" and call them fruit snacks. I'll study up on bettering our communicative skills. Hell, I'll learn to freestyle if that helps. I'm not going to be one of those parents who thinks her kid will just grow out of it because I'm in denial that there's a potential problem.
Enough with the wallowing in the muck, little piggy. It's time to accept myself as an imperfect mother who loves her kids above all else. The flaws, the mistakes, the foibles only make me stronger in the end. I'd rather focus on how to move forward.