He shrugged his shoulders and gave a noncommittal, “Who knows.” Hmm…I’m guessing I know who covered his face in yogurt as if it would give him superpowers. He makes me laugh to nearly tears with his witty quips and silly faces. In our eyes he’s just your average three-year old. Our little miracle.
In our eyes, there is no drool, just a face in need of being wiped. In our eyes there is no speech delay, just a different way of speaking. His speech is, in fact, not delayed. It’s difficult to understand and slurred, not delayed. Delayed implies he can catch up. Nope, in this house we learn to speak Bradenese. In our eyes, there is no motor delay. There are just sneaky chairs and toys that jump out and trip you. Consider yourself warned, they are pesky little creatures. In our eyes, there is love and acceptance for eccentricities. If only the rest of the world could see our child through our eyes. What a different world we would live in.