Monday, September 18, 2006

Butterfly butterfly up in the sky, blue blue blue

This happened one night, when the nights were out, my eyes were heavy, the husband was snoring and the brat was wide awake and perky as though ten mugs of black coffee were racing through his blood stream. Jumping on the bed, and using my stomach as buffer the brat, on his own, began reciting poems I had never heard him say before. Half of which I couldnt understand. Pure gibberish in part, accompanied by intricate hand movements, and then he switched to Hindi films songs I was sure he never even looked at when they came on screen, singing entire verses with unrehearsed ease. The ease of a natural born talent for music and song. My breath caught in my throat I was afraid to make a single sound for fear of disturbing him in his almost Sufi trance like state of song and bliss. He sang blissfully, happily and the pure innocence that only childhood can bring without the self consciousness of the years laden upon the lack of talent. I locked the moment within my heart and stored it away preciously, greedily. The first sign of a musical prodigy being nurtured in my home. I hope. Or the first sign of my child emerging from his wordless world. Having sung his songs, he calmed down, came to me, curled up against me, his small body drifting off into a swift blissfull sleep.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Back to therapy

Gumawning Pooja didi. Good evening child. So what if the time of the day is wrong, it is the sentiment that counts isnt it? Anyway, the brat is back to speech, sensory integration and occupational therapy. Hell of a lot for a not yet three year old. Yet I cant help the guilt that comes from thinking how much better he would have been had I begun this a bit earlier, maybe last year when I had started sensory therapy and dropped it because he wouldnt cooperate with the therapist and the world and its grandmother told me he would grow out of it and he would be fine, and I was overreacting and dont force the child, so much trouble for him, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Am I a bad mother? He needs therapy even more today than he did earlier because now the differences between him and other children his age are very very obvious, in fact so obvious that the class teacher at the PTA last week gently suggested to me that I need to bring the special educator onto his case. She was very nervous about broaching the topic, knowing the resistance that some parents have about accepting the fact that their kids have special needs. And in fact was quite relieved when I told her that I knew he needed help, but was just trying to see whether he was integrating into the classroom set up on his own. Now that it is clear he needs help, will move heaven and earth to ensure he gets it. My darling child. Other children can be so cruel to kids who dont fit in. He longs to play with children and they leave him out. Wish I could explain to him that he is special and he will find other children who want to play with him because of the angel he is and not turn him away because they cant understand what he says or why he needs to constantly be on the run.