My son, Jamie, hit most developmental milestones, but speech was a significant hurdle. The day my husband and I received the speech therapist’s report on Jamie’s language delay was among the most challenging days of my life. No parent of a child with special needs forgets the moment they get that first assessment. I remember the therapist’s words, but they felt distant as my heart sank. I was devastated. 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 parent I aspired to be. I wrote down my thoughts in my planner:
Problem: Jamie is not communicating effectively.
Solution:
- Engage Jamie constantly; talk to him even when it seems he’s not paying attention. Share knowledge as we drive—count streetlights and point out trains, which fascinated him.
- Research extensively; I refused to let any doctor or therapist suggest I wasn’t proactive. I aimed to be the most informed parent they’d ever encounter.
- Remember, I’m the one steering this journey. The therapists, doctors, and teachers are on my team, but I am in control.
A vivid memory from that time involved a visit from a school district diagnostician who suggested Jamie might have Asperger’s syndrome and implied I wasn’t engaging with him enough. “Do you get down on the floor and play?” she asked. Did I? I thought I did, but her comments left me questioning myself. Why is it that mothers often shoulder the blame? I was livid.
After her visit, I researched Asperger’s and found it didn’t match Jamie’s situation; typically, children with Asperger’s speak on time, and Jamie barely had 15 words—many of which were in his invented language. Was I not playing with him enough? It felt like nothing I did was sufficient, and I truly believed I was failing as a parent.
To cope, I went shopping at a local clothing store and bought a new pair of jeans. These jeans were part of my plan; I decided to wear them every time I engaged with Jamie on the floor. They became a symbol of my commitment to support him through his Developmental Language Disorder. Jamie had difficulties in both expressive and receptive language, which felt overwhelming. He was in the lowest percentile for his age, but I could see his eagerness to learn and communicate.
We made significant progress at the train table, playing with Thomas the Tank Engine daily. I modeled questions and answers, hoping he would learn to ask for water or let me know when he was hungry. We spent countless moments in the kitchen, practicing sign language alongside spoken words for essentials like water and food.
Rather than allowing speech goals to overwhelm me, I created personalized objectives based on what Jamie found engaging and challenging. Easing his frustrations led to faster progress. I told the speech therapist, “For the next month, we’ll focus on personal exchanges where he can request what he needs. Let’s model those interactions repeatedly and ensure he doesn’t get frustrated.”
We started with water, then moved to food and toys that piqued his interest. I integrated reading site words, colors, shapes, and the alphabet into our daily routine. One of Jamie’s first words was “frappuccino”—I admit, Starbucks played a role in some of my tougher days.
While driving to speech therapy, I counted streetlights, and one day, to my astonishment, Jamie began counting with me. I broke down in tears, having waited so long for that milestone. It validated every moment I spent talking to myself in the car. Initially, achieving one goal took me about two months, but after a year, we could reach goals in just two weeks.
Six months after I purchased my jeans, I noticed they had faded at the knees. Soon after, they ripped. I wore those jeans proudly until Jamie’s next speech evaluation. As his therapist reviewed his progress, I reflected on how much I had grown, too. Those holes in my jeans represented hard-earned victories.
I bought another pair of jeans and repeated this process six more times, keeping the old pairs as trophies of our milestones. I often advise other parents of children with Developmental Language Disorder to invest in a new pair of jeans and dedicate time to play on the floor with their child. While no one can predict the outcome of therapy and play, the joy of connecting with your child is invaluable—plus, you’ll end up creating some memorable holes in those knees.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, I shared my experience navigating my son Jamie’s speech delay. Through a simple pair of jeans, I established a routine that allowed me to engage deeply with him, fostering his language development and creating a bond that helped us both grow. By personalizing our approach and focusing on interaction, we turned challenges into milestones worth celebrating.
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