In case it hasn’t been clear from previous posts, Robin’s particular brand of developmental stubborness stresses me out.

I signed up for a free Gymboree class on Saturday. I have a dream that regular interaction with other children will encourage him. That was why I went to the zoo and the children’s museum so often, but there aren’t usually a lot of other children there when we are. Maybe at Gymboree he’ll even meet the same children more than once.

And since then I’ve been browsing the web, reading blogs and so on, ostensibly to read Gymboree experiences– but as I read about more and more children much younger than Robin using full sentences or running, I find myself staring at other things. Developmental milestones. Early intervention recommendations. And I end up so frustrated.

They all say ‘trust your instincts’ and I do try. My instincts say ‘nothing’s wrong; he’s stubborn and a perfectionist’. My instincts say ‘crawling seems safer to him around a large, energetic dog who has a history of knocking him over’. My instincts say ‘he’s too impatient to learn the balance he needs to walk fast enough to make walking more attractive than crawling’. My instincts say ‘he hates saying words incorrectly’.

He walks as a game; a favorite game, even. It takes very little to entice him to play the walking game, walking to and from a beloved adult, and getting cheers and hugs each time he returns. He prefers to play it with an adult and a soft surface like a couch or bed or another adult to fall against if he loses his balance, but he’s done it without. And the praise is non-negotiable; last night I held my arms out to my sides twice and when he reached me, each time he reached up to wrap my arms around him. We can only play this game when Dante is separated, outside or in another room, because otherwise Dante wants to also get hugs and he is not as careful with Toddler Robin as he was with Baby Robin.

And when he walks, he takes bigger and bigger steps; he is never totally steady because he is never walking fast enough.

His favorite word is ‘D’, as in the alphabet letter. Every time he says it, there’s an unmistakable gleeful triumph in his tone. My instincts say that’s because he knows he’s saying it perfectly. And he uses whatever words are important to him at any given time– bottle/water is a perennial favorite, and right now there’s ‘moon’ (nin) and ‘fish’ (schy) and ‘truck’ (vroom). Sometimes a word will slip out when he’s not paying attention: ‘banana’, ‘dinosaur’, ‘giraffe’, but then he realizes what he’s done and he won’t repeat it.

He refuses to even try words for things such as ‘out’ or ‘up’ or ‘help’ or ‘open’. He has no patience for apparent idiocy and he knows damn well that we understand him when he indicates those things. A picture’s worth a thousand words, so why not point as an answer? He puts the crayon in our hands and presses it to the paper; how much more explicit does he need to be? And even through my brooding I’m smiling at the memory. He knows what he wants. And he’s in no hurry to be like grownups.

My instincts say ‘everything is fine. Yes, it’s sad that you and he are missing out on some toddler experiences, but the experience of being him is unique and important’.

But what if my instincts are wrong? That’s what haunts me. That’s what makes me sit here brooding rather than working on my novel while he naps.

The internet says ‘Get help now! Before it’s too late! Or else you’ll regret it so much!’

One question I’ve asked the internet repeatedly and found very few answers to is ‘what does the therapy provided by Early Intervention’ actually do? Is there a magic trick to getting past his stubbornness? Something that can’t be revealed to outsiders? How are professionals going to convince him that walking is better than crawling when his personal experience proves that to be a malicious lie? How are professionals going to convince him that it’s worth mispronunciation and misunderstanding to talk? (Although he has an advantage there; he can and does practice sounds without using real words, but I don’t think you can practice walking without, well, walking.)

He seems content with his development. Other than brief bouts of frustration with some toys,  his only frustration comes from when we act like we’ve contracted Sudden Adult Idiocy Disorder.  When he can’t see me to point, he’s happy to think and play by himself.  He makes himself understood as much as he wants to be, he gets where he wants to go, and he’s always learning new things and new behaviors.

He’s done almost everything else late, too.  I remember how, while I was pregnant, I noticed that he didn’t seem to kick as often as other unborn babies– but when he did kick, he just didn’t stop. He rolled late. Crawled late. And now he crawls backward and strafes from side to side…

I feel like I can supplement my instincts with historical and current evidence. I should feel good about things. I want to revel in my parental pride as he pushes other kids down and scribbles on the walls and mis-sings the alphabet song to himself while playing with letter blocks.

But the internet tells me he’s way behind.

And I’m afraid that on Saturday, real people will too.

A Peek Into My Head:

(And is that so bad, if they do? Well, yes. It’s bad if my instincts are wrong. It’s devastating if this is my fault somehow. And it’s double-plus-ungood if my instincts are right, and I ignore them, and put him into frustrating situations where he develops even more issues about the places where he’s behind. Maybe you don’t have enough mommy blindness. Maybe other mothers are more lenient with what they consider ‘talking’. Maybe. No getting around the ‘running’, though. Maybe you have too much mommy blindness…. Shut up. You should be writing anyhow.)

PS: Stories and encouragement to enhance my fortitude in dealing with others who say ‘how old is he?’ and ‘was he born early? really early?’ welcome.  Oh, and dealing with the people who assume he’s a girl because his hair covers his neck. And his name is Robin.