In which I don't have to be THAT mother today
Y. had her first speech therapy appointment today. I have to admit I went into it with a little trepidation. I am not the easiest person to get along with, especially when it comes to various health care providers, including therapists. Over the years, we have had the whole spectrum of experiences with various therapists from ones we have loved to one therapist whom we saw exactly once. Trust me when I say that the therapist who informs me at the very first therapy session that my presence will be a hindrance is a therapist who won't be seeing my child again and is lucky that we even started the session. See? Not easy to get along with.
So Y. and I head out in the car to the appointment. She sits and colors a Cubs coloring page in the waiting room while I ponder all the ways that the next hour can go wrong, while trying to remind myself that it could possibly go right. The pessimistic side was definitely winning during this little mental dialog. But guess what? The pessimistic side lost this time around. I think we have a winner.
Not only did she first stop to have a real conversation with me, acknowledging that I do have some clue about what is going on, but Y., who like before was definitely not on board with the whole speech-thing, was subsequently won over. I knew that Y.'s reaction to the therapist would be key. She may only have been my daughter for ten months, but we are extremely similar in many ways. If she likes someone she will work like a dog to please them, and if she doesn't, well, let's just say the stubbornness quotient is very great.
While I have no hesitation in firing a therapist, I would rather not have to do it. I'm relieved that I won't have to. I think we have one who is going to give Y. the tools she needs to improve her breathing and vocal quality while training me to do the work that she needs on creating English consonants. It's exactly what I was hoping for.
So Y. and I head out in the car to the appointment. She sits and colors a Cubs coloring page in the waiting room while I ponder all the ways that the next hour can go wrong, while trying to remind myself that it could possibly go right. The pessimistic side was definitely winning during this little mental dialog. But guess what? The pessimistic side lost this time around. I think we have a winner.
Not only did she first stop to have a real conversation with me, acknowledging that I do have some clue about what is going on, but Y., who like before was definitely not on board with the whole speech-thing, was subsequently won over. I knew that Y.'s reaction to the therapist would be key. She may only have been my daughter for ten months, but we are extremely similar in many ways. If she likes someone she will work like a dog to please them, and if she doesn't, well, let's just say the stubbornness quotient is very great.
While I have no hesitation in firing a therapist, I would rather not have to do it. I'm relieved that I won't have to. I think we have one who is going to give Y. the tools she needs to improve her breathing and vocal quality while training me to do the work that she needs on creating English consonants. It's exactly what I was hoping for.
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