rabbit hole of words

It used to be, a long, long nine months ago that G didn't make "good" eye contact during conversations, especially in new situations and with strangers.  (He did great when playing with toys or when we were using our fairly vast non-verbal communication means we had built up together over his 3 years.)  He often wouldn't respond when I talked to him or he would look at me with a blank expression telling me something was wrong.  I wasn't sure whether the blank expression meant that he didn't hear me, or he didn't care to listen, or he couldn't understand me, or he had just given up on verbal communication.  Whichever option or options it was, it was painful to see and caused me quite a few hours of worry.  We trudged along, getting confused and sidelined and not really sure which path to take.

I tried harder to reach him.  I talked with more animation, louder.  I signed (We had learned ASL together from when he was an infant and he understood quite a few signs).  I got down on my knees and look into his eyes.  Sometimes he reciprocated, sometimes he responded.  Sometimes I saw the amazingly beautiful sparkle in his eye and realignment of his features meaning he understood me.  And it was obvious how happy that made him, as well as me when it happened.  He looked so proud, so pleased.  He would shout and yell and wave his arms in celebration of successful exchange.  I could tell the opposite was true when we weren't understanding each other.  He would throw tantrums and cling to me.  He didn't want to be apart from his Mama, who understood more than anybody else.  He would glare in anger, frustration, and sometimes he would give up.  There would be silence on his part, except his one word requests for simple things he needed like juice, hugs, cheese, and "No!"  "No" was a big part of our mini conversations.  It meant any of fifty different things, probably more.  And it told me he wanted to be able to tell me more.  So we kept trying, whatever, whenever, anything.

I read book after book after blog after blog about Autism, what the experts kept bringing up when they met G.  My gut disagreed with this suggestion and most things I read pushed me to disagree more, as G just didn't seem to fit.  But nobody could tell me what was going on, making me unable to dismiss the possibility of Autism.  I searched and looked and asked questions and annoyed the school district.  I'm positive they thought I was in denial of G's condition.  Finally I happened upon a brief description of auditory processing disorder and it struck me that it seemed to fit with what I observed of G's language struggles at home.  I emailed the speech therapist who wrote the article that very evening and we set up an appointment.  She confirmed with no doubt he was having trouble processing auditory information.  I was heartbroken (to hear that your child has a diagnoseable problem is hard) and thrilled at the same time.  Finally!  A direction to move in and a name for our struggles and a professional who could actually understand what was going on in G's little head.  Ever since then our family has been making incredible progress.

Now, after speech therapy, patience, a lot of Time (this seems to be the most important factor in our journey through APD... G taking his time to process and us giving him that opportunity without interruption), lots of simplified conversations with picture and signing support at home, it's the other way around.  I see the spark of understanding in his eyes more often than not. When he's tired, sick, when I have overdone the "exercises", when he's angry, the blank expression still shows up.  He is temporarily unreachable except by hugs, like we've always done when nothing else works.  He works so hard!  So much effort all day every day for something that comes naturally to most of us.  He tries again. He wants to "show me".  G eagerly signs songs, tells stories, listens to me, teaches his little sister what the colors of the traffic lights mean.  I am getting to know him more every day, even the parts I could only glimpse and guess at before.  And I am so incredibly proud and grateful when I see comprehension break across his face like the sun coming up.  Every time.