The Sucker-Punch Milestone

Rachel Buckley - 23 Nov 17

Today I sat on the opposite side of the table. I braced myself for the casual but loaded question. The look of support and concern. I wasn’t ready to feel totally winded by it.

I’m a special needs teacher and advisor. I’ve asked those questions more times than I can count. I’ve watched your child and mentally calculated every milestone. Every possible difficulty. As it turns out it’s not easier to know everything that might be wrong. The doctor who finds a lump and is told ‘it’s probably nothing’ will not stop from running through every scenario.

When the Children’s Centre staff handed me some toys to put out and casually asked “so is he talking any more?” This was a question I expected. When they said they would like to invite him to a specialist group after Christmas, the professional me knew this was just a precaution; they’re monitoring closely to help where they can. Just in case. When they said it’s probably because his physical development is so good. He’s so confident that speech is just taking a back seat; I knew that was developmentally true. But the professional me wasn’t sitting there. The me who has said that to so many parents and never wanted to hear it said to me was.

Suddenly it felt like empty praise. Suddenly, instead of grasping onto that as was the intention, I thought of every time I had let him be physical instead of focusing on getting him to speak.

Today I sat on the other side of the table. Today I went home and berated myself for giving him a dummy, for letting him watch Peppa Pig too much, for going on my phone when he was there. I wondered if I should have called nursery more to check on his speech. I wondered if there was something REALLY wrong.

Today I sat on the other side of the table but had the confidence to call my friends. They recounted the advice I had given them about their children. They reminded me that he’s not yet 2 and I know how much of a range the milestones have. They told me their own deepest fears, many of which stemmed from knowing too much. That one feared something was wrong as their child was the opposite of mine. I told them with confidence that there wasn’t. Their response was that deep down they knew that, but when you’re sitting on the other side of someone’s well meaning comments you never feel sure.

Today I sat on the other side of the table but I did the things I would have done with someone else’s child. I did fun things to check his understanding. I rationalised all the many skills and milestones he has achieved. I turned off my phone and listened to him talk more than he had ever done at the children’s centre group. I noted that it wasn’t a strength and that we would both benefit from some outside help to make it a fun thing to tackle next. But that right now it certainly wasn’t more than a lump.

However this pans out for us, the professional me needs to remember a few things. When I’m back on the other side of the table tomorrow I need to feel that winding. I need to pre-empt it and say that the comments I make next are not empty praise. I need to stop them before they leave. I need to tell them however this pans out you didn’t do this. If it was the dummy or Peppa Pig or your phone then it’s temporary. If it wasn’t then it’s still not your fault. I need to make sure they have friends to call.

Because it turns out that when you’re just a professional and not a parent as well you don’t REALLY know. You don’t get that even the most confident, worry-free person can feel sucker punched when it comes to their child.

Rachel Buckley

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