Worry Wort.

I am a worry wort.  Today has been full of it, as have many days recently, and will many days to come.

So why the worry?
A few weeks ago, a co-worker commented that I should "get my son checked out." Or, "get a second opinion," on him.  I was crushed.  Not that August is overtly odd... but he does ignore people when he's "busy," and does not always respond to his name.  These are two reasons to be concerned.  I can give you 400,000,000 reasons he's wonderfully perfect.

The issue is, since that idea was put in my mind, I cannot shake it.
Everything he does that is out of the ordinary is reason to worry.
His lack of regular speech, not a product of his age and ability- but a fear-inspiring concern.

I think, in my heart of hearts, that he is ok.  More than ok, WONDERFUL and outstanding, brilliant and vivacious.  I love every unbelievable thing he does.

I took him to the doctor a few weeks ago to follow up.  I shared my co-worker's concerns, and anything else I could think of. The doctor told me that she was not going to recommend him for an evaluation- that he seemed on track to her.  But, now that this was weeks ago, and his words are not coming easily or consistently. . . . my mind is reeling.

The thought that many children do not speak until after 2 does not calm me. The lack of control over this situation does not ease my mind.  I don't know what to do about this- there may be nothing to do at all.
If he's fine, then all the worry is for nothing... If there is something more going on, then I'd like to know, but am fearful about what this will mean for his future.  I teach students with disabilities of all sorts - so I have seen what they go through at school.  Some are able to easily participate and ...

Holy hell... The baby is sitting next to me. He just picked up my phone, clearly said, "Hi Dad" into the phone, shut it, and said, "Bye."  I'm tearing up.  He's amazing.  I have never loved another human more, or believed in their innate ability for success.

As I'm sitting here typing this, he just got down off the couch and gave Keith a kiss, smiled, then walked to me and when I asked for a kiss, he gave one, fully committed with a "BWACHH" sound to go with it.

He's fine right?  I think, I hope, I pray, that I am just a worry wort.

There must be so many parents going through this same process, and I can relate.  I blame myself for not having a c-section, for not talking to him non-stop, for working.  Yet through all this,  I am angriest at my co-worker I think.  She stole from me my perfect son.  No matter how perfect he is, she gave me reason to worry.

I am so grateful that August is my son. No matter what, ALWAYS - So, It's Always August in Chicago.