Baby Babble, Worry and the Woman Behind the Curtain

Abby gets monthly visits from a wonderful, helpful woman from First Access, an organization that helps kids that are at risk for developmental delays (in Abbys case, being born two months early).She checks where Abby is at developmentally, gives us advice if theres something we need to work on and generally makes us feel better about one of the more terrifying aspects of having a premature kid. She's fantastic.

We also go to the developmental center at Blank Childrens Hospital once every couple months. Its a sparkling new facility at the hospital where Cheeks lived for her first month or so.

Walking into Blank throws me off my game. It shouldn't, the people were great to us and everyone left healthy and happy. There just something about that place thats an accelerant to my neurotic awkwardness. Its weird. A picture of her from her NICU stay is hanging in the lobby of the developmental center. What should make me happy and proud makes me uneasy.  I hadn't looked at pictures of her in the hospital in a long time. That stay seems like a lifetime ago; shes small and vulnerable, nothing like the kid I'm struggling to hold onto in the lobby.

I barely recognize this kid

We were ushered into the room, Abby got stripped down to her diaper and weighed and measured. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. Abby in her diaper, wrapped in a flimsy blanket. Me pacing around the room trying to keep her distracted. After 30 minutes of pointing out various pictures, lights and mirrors shes had enough and is filing various complaints with me. Abby and I spend a lot of time waiting around at Doctors offices. We're not getting any better at it. Tank is getting worse. After 45 minutes  my irritation is turning to anger, I'm gaming out scenarios in my head, most of which involve something radical like writing a strongly worded letter. Cheeks is out of control, screaming epithets, throwing things,making threats.

I go back to whats usually the Tank neutralizer, the giant mirror in the room. I realize its a two way mirror and shut off the lights. Sitting behind the mirror is the lady we have the appointment with. We see her, Abby cusses and she comes into the room to start her assessment.

When I ask here what she was doing behind the mirror she says paperwork. I think back to the time in the room, cataloging any curses, threats or bodily noises made by me or Ms. Cheeks.

The next 45 minutes are spent making me pay for my insolence.  The questions are all asked as accusations, like someone emphasized the wrong words in her script and also maybe put in random exclamation marks. The cumulative effect of the questions is to make me think I don't know my kid at all.

"How much does she eat a day?"   

Uhhh, well theres a bottle in the morning afternoon and evening and some of that mashed up gunk.

*annoyed sigh* How much!"  

Oh ahhh...hmmm. Carry the one, minus spillage...uhhh 28 ounces?

"Is she crawling?"  

Well shes kind of scooting. She gets where she needs to go. That kid is a monster scooter. Fastest scooter I've ever seen, thats for sure.


"Crawling. Knees tucked. Crawling"


Well no. She kind of drags herself with one arm and keeps an action arm free for slapping or grabbing. She's developed her own technique, like Bruce Lee with Jeet Kune Do.


"Hows her talking?"


Well, she yells a lot. Sometimes its excited yelling. Sometimes it angry. Rarely sad. The happy yell is fun, though I think technically thats a squeal. Technically. 


"But talking.Goo goo. Gaa Gaa. Daa. Daa. That. Talking. Any of that?

No, no babbling.

This is a problem. She's lagging in communication, they'll need to see her again in a couple months. Its likely that her hearing issues are the cause but they're not sure. We know she's not deaf, she responds to our voices and noise. We dont know how well she can hear, or if she can just now hear us after the tubes.

If Abby had showed up on time and everything had gone smoothly I'd still be a worrier. The fact that she was early and had a bumpy first month makes me freak out over everything. The constant monitoring of development means I'm always thinking about where she should be, why she isn't there and what we can do about it.

I need a subscription to Fretful Father

The meeting with the developmental  robot has me worried she cant babble because of my bad parenting. It seems all we can do is wait. I already babble at the kid all day. I beg her for a Da Da everyday. I have long, rather one sided conversations with her all the time.  If anything I talk to her too much! We went grocery shopping Saturday and I was talking to her about the role of regulatory agencies* and a lady buying milk gave me a very worried look.

Now we wait and enjoy our beautiful little girl. And I worry.

Chill out, Im fine.

*In my defense, Abby started bashing the EPA. She started it