Our 18-Month Old Says Two Words… Or Three..

Appointment Day

Our son is 18 months old and can only say two words… no, three. I’d say “kaka” is a word, right? I think he means “come” or “cat”. It really is a word, believe it or not. According to Google, it is “a large New Zealand parrot with olive-brown and dull green upper parts and reddish underparts.” Yeah, I’m pretty sure he means car.

Flashback – Appointment Day 3 Months Earlier

I dread every visit to the pediatrician. Not because I know that my baby will be stung twice in the hips with needles. That part, though it may be painful to watch, goes by rather quickly. It is the waiting prior to the needles. I always go in hoping that a majority of the doctors won’t be on leave like always, and we will be done within an hour. But my hopes are brutally crushed each time as I am greeted by the wails of newborns and moans of toddlers who have been waiting long before us. That is when I know our turn won’t be for another three hours at least. Luckily, this time I have had to wait for only two hours. That is until I find out that this visit has been, by far, the worst one yet.

I sit calmly, trying to hide as best as I can my staggering curiosity as the doctor flips the pages in her binder with a worrisome frown on her face. This is met by an occasional shake of the head from side to side every now and then. She looks up and shuts the binder with a thump, causing me to sit up straight with a jolt.

“Well then, you say he’s 15 months old and only saying two words?” she asks with a straight face.

“Yes. He is more interested in running around. You know he started walking at 10 months.” I reply, adding his physical attributes as more of a compensation for his lack of vocabulary.

“Yes, honey, I know. So, what are the words that is saying?”

“Umm. He says Dada and Baba and I think he’s trying to say Mama also. But he just prefers doing things himself rather than asking us. You know, climbing up tables, reading his books…”

“What does Dada mean?” she cuts in.

“It means grandfather in Urdu”.

“Does he direct the word at his grandfather? And does he direct the word Baba at his dad?”

No. The answer is no. He just uses these words for everything. Sometimes continuously, rendering them meaningless. Yet I can not bring myself to say it.

“Well, he uses the words when he wants something, otherwise he just doesn’t say anything”. I reply hopefully, to which she replies with an apologetic smile,

“That just makes it worse dear.”

Way to go with that!

She takes out a form and starts filling it in as we sit in silence again. I’m not curious anymore. Rather, I am overcome with the same feeling I used to have after taking a test on which I knew I had done poorly. I would just want to go home.

“Well then!” she snaps, after clicking her pen. “Your son is only saying two words which may or may not be directed at his dad and grandad. This is not good. He should be saying at least 10 to 15 words by now”

My heart nearly skips a beat as I try to think of all the other toddlers I know. They are all mostly older than him, but were they all talking at his age? Is he that behind?

“He will have a hearing test. After that, we will refer you to a speech intervention center where you will be introduced to a speech therapist”. She says in one go.

A speech therapist?! He needs therapy?

“I will need to see you again when he is 18 months old to assess his improvement and whether he will still need the therapy. Height 29 a half inches. Weight close to 32 pounds. The rest is fine, thank you for coming”.

I slowly get out of my chair and secure my hand bag tightly around myself. My grip on the stroller’s handle is firm as I give her a tight smile, without meeting her gaze. I then, quietly but swiftly, step out of the tiny clinic.

There were no needles this time. Just the piercing realization that we are not doing enough as parents. The entire ride back home, I feel my nerves pinching me, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat now and then. The tension in the air around me is suffocating, and even deep breathing does not manage to bring about any more relaxation than it does an annoying headache.

Narrating the entire incident to my husband is no better. I can feel his nerves working at each word. The only difference is that now instead of one, two people are feeling the weight of those words, and the tension has only increased. Being his typical self, he immediately starts researching on his phone. “How to make your baby talk”, “Top toys for cognitive development”, “10 activities that can help your baby communicate better”. I, being my typical self, just lie in bed and decide to sleep it off.

We find that the more research we do, the worse we are making matters for ourselves. According to our research, not only is our son supposed to be saying at least a dozen words, but he is supposed to be pointing, feeding himself, dressing himself, sleeping on his own, and playing with only make-belief toys. None of those flashy ones with buttons that play baby tunes – the only ones he has basically.

It is not until I meet another mom, Simone, at the toddler center, that I gain some clarity. She tells me how she is extremely worried about her son’s development, and how she is determined to see progress in him before the next visit to the pediatrician. I try to calm her down with things I’ve been saying to myself recently. I reassure her that it is common for boys to start talking late, and how a delayed speech has nothing to do with their understanding of what is being said.

“Oh his speech is fine, he’s already using two word sentences”, she says, after eyeing me curiously all the while that I have been giving my own speech.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s his physical development. The gross motor skills. He is supposed to be walking in a few months and he doesn’t even crawl! The doctor says that is not a good sign”.

I look at my son fiddling with a baby book in the distance and call out his name, to which he immediately looks up. I realize that all I can do is teach him, but just like children of all ages, there is no way I can physically make him talk. It isn’t about what we aren’t doing, but about him taking his own time, and us as parents having to make peace with it. I look at Simone calmly and tell her that she has nothing to worry about, and that once her son is able to, he’ll be running instead of walking.

Present – Appointment day

As usual, my baby and I have been sitting in the waiting room for two hours. The doctor calls us in and measures his weight and height. She asks me how far along he has come in his speech. I tell her that the therapy is helping and that he’s interacting more with other kids. She doesn’t seem too impressed but looks back down at her file, after which she asks curiously,

“Has he started walking?”

I manage a tight smile and a nod, before I grab my purse, hoping to clearly indicate my urgency to leave.

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