The Red Tape Hits Home

There has been an interesting turn of events this week related to our toddler's speech disability. We learned that we may actually have a shot at therapy covered by insurance, to supplement the 1 time/week from the school district. Several phone calls later, (to our clinic, her current therapist, our insurance, her prospective therapist, to my sister for moral support) we're awaiting the verdict and hopeful. I'm just bitter our two year-old may have missed out on months of frequent therapy because the health insurance literature was deceiving.

I kind of take her delayed speech for granted on a daily basis; we have our ways of communicating, and she's generally happy. But when I start seeing her preschool peers later this month, I know it'll hit home that we're missing out on knowing what she's thinking more. There's a hard-of-hearing stroke survivor at work who seems so incredibly peaceful and trusting in those such as her husband and me when we communicate on her behalf. I'm kind of amazed she isn't more frustrated; if her husband weren't the sensitive, intuitive partner he is, her life might be hell. When I don't adequately intuit our two year-old's feelings and say them aloud for her, as in, "You really wanted your sister to share that, didn't you?" she breaks down in alligator tears that break my heart.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that our daughter will continue to find her voice, and that those of us able to communicate can pick up on the important things some can't say.