I could regurgitate Albert Einstein's life story at this point and still, I am skeptical. I am too knowledgeable to fall for this pipe dream and truthfully, it just makes me more and more depressed. I know people believe Einstein did not speak until he was four years old but I have yet to see a conclusive page from his baby book. It's hard for me to believe that his pages are a blank slate like that of my Amos, my thirty two month old, bespectacled, tow-headed fourth child. Ever so lovely but he can not speak and oh, how he wants to.

 

The voiced innocent reminder about one of the brightest minds in history leaves me feeling like a mother who is wasting her precious time and energy and financial resources. The very notion of Einstein undermines the therapy we have been diligently doing eight to ten times per week since before his first birthday. As much as I would like to think his speech is going to miraculously come together one day, I can't just sit back and site Einstein.

 

I hope it will come and if and when it does, it will come with hard work, input from oral motor specialists and visits with craniofacial surgeons as we continue to monitor his palate. In late May we traveled to Connecticut to have him assessed by a leading expert in sever oral motor delays and she thinks she can help him. At her recommendation, he will have surgery next month to repair his structurally inefficient tongue; we are excited to have something to fix. It will help but is not the golden ticket; vestibular issues, dysarthria, apraxia , dyspraxia, severe speech delay, severe motor planning issues, oral motor deficits, all ways to describe why Amos can't spit out the words like his three older siblings did at this age.

 

Please support me as we go through this process. It is so tough, not as tough as terrible things like cancer or other more serious issues, but it is the toughest thing we have had to conquer as a family of six. I know Einstein's parents were worried enough about him that they consulted a doctor, but in his case history, he usually chose not to speak. According to a family friend's written remembrances, Albert upon introduction to his baby sister asked, "But where are its' wheels?". He was two and a half at the time and those words would have me jumping for joy, not terribly worried, but that's just my viewpoint.

 

I believe people have good intentions and I appreciate their pure hopes for Amos. I share the same ones after all. When I disclose my heart though, just offer a kind nod of understanding. My fears don't need to be fixed in the moment and nor does Amos. He may or may not end up like Einstein but for the moment encourage me to accept him and his smiles and giggles as he chases his older siblings. Give me space when I am wrestling him on the sidelines of a soccer game or at the pool and maybe check in with me a day or two later. Those friends that do exactly that are the ones that have my heart.

 

Einstein would be proud.