A few years ago this blog was All Jaw Surgery, All the Time. But before the surgery came years of braces. Braces I had put on when my son was a little baby.
I didn't want to.
I feared that my son, who spent all of his time with me because Daddy was deployed for much of his first three years, wouldn't develop proper language skills. I was afraid he wouldn't learn how to speak correctly because of all my lisping and mumbling through braces, appliances, retainers, and wired shut jaws.
My husband thought I was nuts.
Today I was vindicated, in the worst way possible.
My son scored in the 1st percentile for articulation. Anything below the 16th percentile is cause for concern. The 1st percentile, people. The first!
My brilliant son who is always in the 99th percentile for every other freaking thing in his life has way more speech problems (relative to his age) than we thought.
And those speech problems are what kept him out of the fancy school we wanted.
But their rejection is what drove me to the speech pathologist office, so I guess it was some sort of blessing. At least now he'll get the help he needs.
My husband thinks it is the difference between the bayou and the real world. No one thought his speech was any where near bad enough to need help back on the bayou. But here they are planning therapy three days a week.
I learned a lot in the therapists' office today. (More on some of that later). But the most important thing I learned is that I am freaking lucky to have such normal kids. Even my daughter who we've always thought of as a freak. There were kids there with serious developmental, social and psychological issues and I listened to their parents in the waiting room.
God, I have it good. Even if my son is literally tongue tied.