Archer's supposed to be talking by now, but he isn't.
"Does he have any words yet?" Our pediatrician asked last week, at Archer's two-year appointment.
"No."
"Not any? Six months ago you said he had a few words."
"I know..."
I
lied to her at the last appointment. I didn't want to take Archer to
therapy. I didn't want to get him tested. I was afraid of what that
meant for us. I figured he would get there on his own. Just like he did
with crawling at thirteen-months and walking at seventeen.
I told myself to wait until he turned 2. "He'll surely be talking by then," I thought.
For
the past six months I've tried everything I can think of to get Archer
talking. But still no words. No "Mama". No "Dada". No nothing.
"He doesn't have words. Not a single one," I admitted.
"I see," she said, scribbling away on her clip-board. Big illegible scribbles that I tried to read upside down but could not.
I tightened my arms around Archer. I repeated over to myself and to him not to worry.
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