A Diagnosis

My 2 year-old son has a speech delay.  We were concerned when he didn't start talking at 18 months.  By the time I was that age, I was speaking in full sentences.  He could only say "hi" and "bye", but not with any consistency.  At his 2 year check-up, we brought up our concerns with his pediatrician, who suggested a program that works with children who have at least a 25% delay in one or any of the following areas:  physical, social, communication, emotional, and behavioral.  He qualified to receive in-home therapy from a speech therapist, an occupational therapist, and an education specialist for at least 6 months.

A few months in, they suggested we test him for Autism Spectrum Disorders.  I was floored.  I thought he was doing so well with his therapy, he was learning to communicate, he was able to focus more.  And they said he was improving, but they wanted to know if there might be an underlying issue that needed to be found.  So my husband and I agreed.  Our son was tested in September and received a diagnosis of PDD NOS. Technically, he is on the Autism end of the spectrum, as opposed to Asperger's, but the degree of his disorder is relatively mild as of right now.  And with the continued treatment plan of therapy, he may be able to assimilate with a class of typical children when it's time for him to start attending school.  I am glad we had him tested b/c now I know we're on the right track.

Having a diagnosis really didn't change my interactions with my son, but it does make me more defensive.  I worry that once people find out about it, they'll view him differently and treat him differently.  He's a sweet, affectionate, little boy, with a fantastic sense of humor, and possibly a little too much intelligence.  Knowing about his diagnosis just tells you that he learns and processes things a little differently; it doesn't define who he is.

Mama Never Said There'd Be Days Like This

One screaming, grumpy toddler who refuses to nap...check.

Four rambunctious felines, locked in a small bathroom for three hours...check.

Husband gone to the dentist for 3 root canals...check.

Broken water heater...check.

Pile of dishes in the sink that can't be washed til the water heats...check.

Pile of cat crap on the bathroom floor...check.

On the plus side, the water heater has been replaced at no cost to us.  Hooray for a decent landlord!

One of those Days

Do you ever have one of those moments when you're like, "Wow!  I'm not fucking good at my job.  Why do I expect I'll get paid?"

Okay, maybe not quite like that, but some variation on the theme.

But for me, I look at my work sometimes and think everything I've ever done is complete and total crap.  Why would anyone in their right mind want to buy anything I've ever made?

Perhaps that's my problem.  I'm attempting to cater to a very small crowd: the sane, well-adjusted, non-neurotic, well-off patrons of the arts.  Really, aren't the ones who actually do provide a good amount of funding for artists, aren't they themselves quite batty in the belfry, so to speak?  Maybe I should remember that the people who may really like my stuff are going to be just as crazy if not more so than myself (which is possibly certifiable).  Maybe I'll make it into the DSM-V as a criteria for diagnosis:  "purchases art from TJL".  That's when I know I've really made it.  So many crazy people will be buying my work, I'll have a corner on the market.  I'll set up near the asylums, so you can hit me up going in and coming out.  And who knows, you might pass me in the hall.