A Non-Verbal Boy

 One of the hardest parts about parenting a child who doesn’t talk (yet) is that I know there are parts of Matthew we can’t fully know without language.

In some ways it’s been a long 2 ½ (almost!) years of him being home and trying to relate to him without language and with very little communication overall. I do love him very much, but it does feel like there are fewer rewards to the relationship when there isn’t the back and forth communication I’ve come to know and love with my big kids.

Recently I spent some time reading through the journals I kept during my pregnancies and early years with both Maya and Sam. Once my babies were born, I tried hard to write every week about what they were doing. This included what they were saying.

As I paged through Sam’s journal, I was astounded by the number of words he could say by the time he was a year old. He could communicate so many things to me with his vocabulary. Even at the time I knew that much of my babies’ communication was nonverbal—and I do share that kind of communication with Matthew.

But how much more enriching it is these days as Matthew is starting to “talk” more in a back and forth rhythm with me. Now, much of what he says is in sign language—coupled with the few words he knows—and I can tell he’s dying to say words with his mouth too. He mimics almost anything I try to have him say, but there are several consonant sounds he just CAN’T get his mouth to say. I LOVE that he’s trying, though.

And since he’s using more signs and combining signs and words (sometimes up to 3 signs in a row!) the complexity of ideas he’s able to communicate is so beautiful to me.

I feel a new sense of calm being with him that I didn’t feel before. There’s something about knowing him, about trusting that I can understand what he needs and communicate back to him that is calming and reassuring to me. And with this new sense of calm, I also realized how many months I spent feeling anxious about the lack of communication with Matthew.

Matthew is far from catching up. He’s now on the autism spectrum and has been diagnosed with ADHD (we hope to start him on some meds next week if all goes well). He’s still somewhat non-verbal and might have apraxia of speech. But he’s a learner and a fighter—he’s persistent and loving—and he’s now a fixture in our family. He’s our normal. It’s good.

And almost every single day I have an encounter with a situation that reminds me Matthew is MEANT to be part of our family. Whether it’s the layout of our house (with Matthew’s “domain” in the attic, safely tucked away above our bedroom) or the love and support of his extremely verbal and intelligent big siblings who advocate for him, teach him, and care for him, or the amazing preschool program he’s in now, or the skilled speech therapist who teaches me something new every single visit, or just the renewed energy and courage each day to parent this amazing human being because I get to be part of all the ways he’s growing and changing—I get to witness it first hand—I’m giddily in love with my boy and so grateful that he’s part of our family.

I wouldn’t change it for anything. Truly.