She’s doing everything according to schedule, except for talking. Apparently, she’s supposed to have at least 50 words at this point in her life. She does not. I think I can count 7. In vain I tell the doctor that the girl hears three languages.
“Well, then she should have 50 words in at least one of the languages.”
I truly wonder if American pediatricians are trained to deal with bilingual kids at all.
So they diagnosed her with a speech delay, and I got a call from the nice people at “help me grow”, who want to give her speech lessons. When I told the lady on the phone that she hears three languages, she replied, “Yeah, a lot of the kids we get in here are bilingual.”
That tells me, non-expert here, that maybe bilingual kids talk later than average.
I politely declined their help: we agreed that I’d call back if there’s not progress in 6 months.
I also got a message from an audiologist wanting to schedule her for a hearing exam. Knowing that the girl has about 50 songs in her repertoire (tunes, not words), and knowing that I only have to sing something new a few times for her to know it, I’m pretty sure it’s not a hearing issue.
I didn’t return that call.
If all that wasn’t enough, apparently R-Sprout’s little soft spot hasn’t closed enough yet for them. The kindly pediatrician sent us for blood-work to make sure she doesn’t have a nutritional deficiency.
Talk about a slap in the face.
I can’t do everything perfectly as a mom: my house is a perpetual disaster zone, there’s mold in my shower, and I forgot to send T-Sprout’s favorite book with her to preschool when it was her turn. But one thing I do pay attention to, almost obsessively, is nutrition.
So we went for blood-work, and, lo and behold, she’s fine.
Now, I really think this is all horse poop, and I thought it was on the day of the original pediatrician visit. I would have loved to have smiled at that trained M.D. and said: “I think you’re full of shit, she’s fine, no hearing problem, her head’ll close eventually, and she’ll start talking when she’s good and ready to.”
But my sister knows someone who got her kids taken away from her for taking one into the emergency room to check for a concussion because the kid fell and hit her head (“looks like abuse to us”). I’m scared that if I don’t do what they tell me, if I tell them I think my child’s fine and I don’t want to take her for blood-work or “help me grow” English speech lessons, they might take my kids away from me.
When the pediatrician suggested that we switch to 2% milk because it’s lower in fat (is it still 1992 at medical school?), I didn’t dare tell her that we do raw milk.
Who knows what will deem you “unfit” these days?