Uh-uh. Ang.

Last summer, Julie wrote about finding herself explaining Charlie's delay in walking in a way that felt like an apology. At the end of the post she asked, as Julie often does, what about you? If your child has a delay that other people notice, how do you handle it? Have you ever found yourself apologizing, and if so, how do you overcome it (the temptation to explain/apologize/justify)? I left this comment at the time:

At almost 18 months my son has a remarkably limited vocabulary (your recent post about all of Charlie's new words put me into a five-minute tail spin) and I have noticed recently that I'm pulling out the old "bi-ligual babies generally have a langauge delay" chestnut more often. (Anecdotal evidence often pegs the delay in terms of months; more scholarly literature suggests the delay is similar to the delay of boys relative to girls - 4 to 6 weeks) I think I do this not to protect myself lest anybody question my parenting, but to "protect" my son - I would hate for anybody to judge him, think he's not smart, etc, so I throw out there the idea that for a boy in his situation (bi-lingual household, sort of tri-lingual world at large) it's not so odd to have a limited vocabulary at 18 months. (We have had his hearing checked to make sure it's a language thing and not a hearing thing, so now it's a matter of patience.) I try not to worry about this, and most days I don't, but then a 20 month old boy at play group - who is also bilingual - says keys (rather, Schlussel) which is one of Boy's favorite things and he doesn't say keys yet (or Schlussel) and I worry a bit.

Mostly I wish he'd hurry up and talk because at the moment to tell me he's hungry he walks into the kitchen, points at the fridge, and yells; to tell me he wants to listen to music he points at the stereo and yells; to feed the cat, he points at her food dish and...you get the point. Words would cut down on my headache tablet bills enormously.

R and I tried not to worry about Small Boy's "delay." We kept an eye on it and brought it up with the pediatrician at the 18-month check. Dr. Norwegian asked if Small Boy used "Mama" and "Papa" properly, which he did at 18 months (well, he calls R "Dada," but same thing) and had a small handful of other words as well. A small handful, but they were there. That was enough for Dr. Norwegian to say everything is fine for now, we'll bring it up again when he's two. And most days I was able to let it lie. There were enough reasons not to worry: boys begin speaking later than girls; according to conventional wisdom many bi-lingual children experience a delay in the onset of speech (however, as I noted in my comment to Julie's post, the more scholarly literature suggests the bi-lingual delay is a matter of weeks rather than the assumed months; that I knew this going in served to seriously erode the comforting potential of this little mantra, yet I employed it regularly nonetheless); Small Boy's comprehension in both languages was, and remains, what I can only personally consider astounding; and I trust Dr. Norwegian. I tried to remember what Mausi said in this post: "Most parents tend to panic much too early."

Still, posts like this about all of Charlie's new words or the latest Baby Blue conversation would make me nervous and unsettled. (I'm linking back to year-old posts because I specifically remember reading these and getting that feeling at the time.) I'm a worrier, after all. (What? Me? Worry?) And I'm an over-educated upper-class American mother (yes I live in Switzerland now but I spent my first 30 years in the US - you can take the girl out of the US but you can't take the US out of the girl), meaning I have absorbed through my very pores the idea that every! facet! of! my! child's! development! is! my! responsibility! I do all the "Right Things": I talk to him constantly, read him stories, reinforce his speech, listen to him and respond when he communicates with me, and never tell him he's pronouncing something wrong but rather just say "Yes, that's a bus." And this kid just. wasn't. talking.

Then about a month ago* I was taking him for a walk and I saw a huge fat bumblebee. I said "Look! A bumblebee!" and Small Boy said "Bum-bum bee!" and he's never looked back. Bum-bum bee! Ant! Lay-ee-bug! Bee! Bee-tull! (Yeah, he's all about the bugs.) Mice! Grape! Leep (sleep)! Doo-eece (juice)! Home! Alloo (hello)! Bye-bye! Hand! Hep (help)! In! Out! And there's Swiss, too. Choeme (come)! Abe (down)! Auto! Klee (small)! Bisi (pee)! Wys (white)! Deku (blanket)! Mit (with)! Eis (one)! Every day there's something new, two, three, four new words.I have no idea what happened, what made him decide he was ready and willing to talk, but really from one day to the next he just exploded with new words. And I believe he decided. I remember when he started to walk - also maybe a little behind the curve. But one day he just walked. No cruising around the sofa first, no tentative three toddling steps before toppling over. One day that boy just up and walked. The first time he climbed a little ladder at the playgroup he did it when I wasn't even watching. After weeks of my trying to encourage him up the ladder, he just decided it was time to climb. And I think for whatever reason, about a month ago he decided to talk. He was ready.

When Small Boy was a newborn, I called him my wee small boy. Sometimes I still do, but these days when I do he shakes his head and says "Uh-uh. Ang." (Ang is his way of adorably mispronouncing his own name.) No, he's saying, I am not a generic little boy. I am Ang. Yes. Yes he is, and the more often I remember that, the more often I exhale and remind myself that he's going to do his thing when he is ready to do it (and isn't that what I want for him anyway?) and not when a chart tells him to, the better off we're both going to be. For he is Ang and nobody else.

(But at night, when I peek at him sleeping, he is my wee small boy. When he is tall enough to look me in the eye, he will still be my wee small son.)

* And by "about a month ago" I mean April 6 at about 14:30, because of course I'm going to remember that bum-bum bee for the rest of my life.