Irony

God created me to be a communicative being.

I can do a few things well, but my one true stand-out gift is my ability to communicate in all forms. When this gift is paired with my perceptive intuition, it really is quite handy.

That is, except when dealing with my child with special needs.

I got a call this afternoon from the speech therapist at his preschool. One of his IEP goals this year is to be able to articulate. At this point he still only has a few syllable and vowel sounds, even though that has grown a little. His daycare teachers are asking the experts for help in understanding him, and giving him tools to express himself more with them and his peers.

My son is four. My 18-month old has more words than my four-year old does. It's not that he doesn't comprehend, in fact his comprehension is remarkable. His articulation, to put it mildly, leaves a lot to be desired.

I want so desperately to figure this out for him. I cannot stand seeing and hearing his frustration when no one around him gets him. I worry about his ability to bond and connect with others as they get older, and I worry about behavior issues that could stem from utter frustration on his part.

Something that comes so easily, naturally and completely without thought for me . . . and my son is on the complete opposite side of the coin.

It feels like a huge life lesson in the palm of my hand; it feels like irony sent from above.