So, it seems that when it comes to motion and activity, Little MPB has always been on the advanced side of the normal milestones. He started rolling over at 7.5 weeks and he hasn’t stopped moving since then. Of course, since I can be incredibly competitive, I’ve always appreciated his efforts to do things early. As if somehow his early rolling skills have something to do with Mr. MPB and I (sense the sarcasm – I realize we probably did nothing to promote his rolling over skills).
Anyways, for the first time, Little MPB seems to be slow at reaching a milestone – he has very few words. He babbles constantly, but he does not distinctly say much. He’s got mama, dada and “og” for Dog. And, he never really says mama or dada with any intent.
The odd time he says something new, but then he doesn’t repeat it so we have no idea if the word was coincidental babbling or a real word.
Anyways, I feel as though his speech should be more advanced. It seems as though all the other children we know his age have 20+ words. Little MPB simply doesn’t have that many words, not even close.
Needless to say his speech has now taken up permanent residence as my obsessive worry.
And when I say obsessive worry, I mean OBSESSIVE!
- As in, when I was at the doctor for my foot, I asked about his language first. To which I was told he should have a few more words by 18 months, and if he doesn’t then we will worry more. And if I’m really worried I can take him for early speech therapy.
- We read to him constantly, and have since the day he was born – probably 10+ books per day (Little MPB prefers to walk away with the books).
- I have now purchased flash cards with pictures and first words (Little MPB prefers to eat the cards).
- I’m debating registering Little MPB for speech therapy (Mr. MPB is begging me to wait a few more months, but will oblige if I register him now because he knows just how worried I am).
I think this speech thing is likely a sign of one of my parenting weaknesses. I am competitive, I know this about myself. And, I want to give my child the best opportunities in life, this is incredibly important to me. But I also realize he just needs to be a kid. And so, when it comes to academics, I suspect I am going to struggle with the line between being an obsessive parent pushing for top decent grades and just encouraging healthy play time.
I’m trying to take the approach that the fact I see this about myself now is a good thing… Because I am aware of it, I can hopefully keep myself in check. Hopefully before I become crazy mom I can remind myself to take a deep breath and chill because kids need to be kids.
So right now, I’m just trying to be patient and I’m just desperately hoping he starts learning more words and using them on a regular basis.
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As I worked through all my emotions last week, I also happened to hurt my foot enough that I could no longer put any weight on it. (I should have known to stop running, yet I figured it couldn’t be hurt that badly so I went for one more run, which seems to have done me in. Unfortunately.)
Anyways, this post is not about my foot. It’s about last week and all my very real and uncomfortable emotions.
.
Most days I have no idea what I’m going to write about, and I just sit down and see what comes out. Some days I literarily laugh out loud as I write. Other days I just smile because I cannot help but smile. And some days, I just procrastinate on writing, because I know I’m not ready to dive into what’s been jumping around my mind. And other days I turn to Mr. MPB in desperation and say I have nothing to say that anyone wants to read about.
And more often then I’d like to admit, I’ll be sitting at my desk with tears running down my cheeks. I make no secrete of the fact that my life hasn’t been a fairy tale, and whether I’m living through some sort of current catastrophe or living in the memories of a past loss, my emotions are very real and often raw.
For instance, last week I knew what I needed to write. I knew I had to face the emotions around the 20th anniversary of my mom and sister being killed in a car accident. I started writing Friday’s post earlier in the week, then I edited it almost daily throughout the week. Each day, I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I worked through memories that I normally push to the outer edges of my mind. Continual drafting and editing is not typical for me, but this was different and I knew I needed to spend the time. Simply, I needed to face the emotions I’ve been hiding from.
In the end, I pushed the publish button, once again sharing my uniquely broken yet healing self with the world.
I realize Friday’s post isn’t an award winning piece of writing. But that’s not my goal.
My goal is entirely different. I think back to when I started this blog, the reason I chose to start writing was that I knew others had to be going through Recurrent Pregnancy Loss, in silence, just like me. I wanted to share my experiences and if I help just one other person, then I knew My Perfect Breakdown was worth the time and effort.
Looking back through my life I now laugh at the amount of times in my life people have suggested I write. I literally cannot count the times I’ve been given journals and been encouraged to write about my life. I was simply never willing too. Then one day, in a moment of desperation, I googled how to start a blog. And then, I started writing on my blog.
And now, somewhere along the way, I began realizing how therapeutic writing is for me. As altruistic as my initial intentions were with creating My Perfect Breakdown, it turns out that writing is the best therapy I’ve ever had. This blog has truly become a part of who I am, and I firmly believe writing helps me be a better person.
If you like this post, please feel free to share and please click the follow button on the side or return to myperfectbreakdown.com to follow my journey.
My Perfect Breakdown 