It feels like I don't write much about Matthew here. Part of it I think is that most of my day is just doing damage control with him and really, that gets boring to repeat over and over.
Something DID happen last week with him. In the morning, before my traumatic afternoon at the doctor, Matthew had an appointment with a speech pathologist.
I have been kind of burying my head in the sand over this. Because I live with Emmett, the boy who is famous among the therapists in town, my frame of reference for what is bad and good for speech is kind of mis-calibrated. It turns out that Matthew's proclivity to put sounds in the wrong places in words might not be a cute thing that he grows out of after all. He is now on two separate waiting lists for therapy, and the first one to get an opening gets to have him for a client. It is too bad there is a shortage of specialists in my city. Even being on two lists, we are probably looking at waiting a year for a spot.
In other news, as you read yesterday, Matthew started dance classes.
I had no idea what a boy he was until I threw him into a room full of girls his age. As soon as the class started, all of the girls assembled in a circle and sat down to listen to the teacher. My boy wandered around the room until he found an uncovered vent to explore. After that, he decided he missed me and tried to leave until I went back into the room with him. He spent part of the class listening to the teacher from my lap. I inched my way out and he did a bit of the ballet before he got extra wiggly and had to run. He then spent the rest of class jogging laps around the circle of girls practicing their dance moves.
I am hoping he will get the hang of things after a few classes. If not, it is going to be a pretty funny recital!