Of bees and ducks.
My lovely son started off his life with a bang. I had pregnancy induced high blood pressure and gestational diabetes. I was induced at 38 weeks and soon enough the nurse was uttering a word no woman in labour ever wants to hear: Crap!
He was ready to be born and it was a mad scramble to find someone, anyone, to deliver him. He was born with just one push, the doctor telling me to slow down the whole time.
Because I had a high risk pregnancy, I didn’t get to see him right away. I remember looking up and seeing his bassinet surrounded by six doctors. They moved out of the way and six more people came in. My husband was hovering near our son, while my own mother was holding my hand, telling me everything was okay.
It turns out that he was seen by thirty people in under ten minutes.
But he was perfect and healthy and he was ours.
It wasn’t until he was 18 months old that we noticed something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t speak. Not one single word. Not mama, not dada, not dog, not anything…
We made an appointment at a local speech therapy clinic after having his hearing tested. They determined our son had a speech development delay. Not just a vocabulary delay, but an expressive language delay. We started therapy as soon as a spot opened up.
It was a lot of hard work. There were flash cards, tongue exercises and lots of mirrors. Very slowly, his vocabulary grew, as did his ability to express his emotions in words.
Now he’s talking up a storm. He still has trouble with certain sounds and occasionally throws a tantrum instead of using his words, but what kid doesn’t?
What does this have to do with bees or ducks? Well, I have a habit of giving my kids animal nicknames. Our daughter is “monkey” and our son is “ducky”.
Just recently my son as started calling me “bee.” When I asked him why, he responded in his cute little voice: “Because bee is for the best. And you’re the best.”
Oh, the joy of words!