It won’t happen overnight for him. It didn’t for me either.
Sometimes he would look at me. Sometimes he wouldn’t. Still, I’d go on and on about what this person did or what that person said.
The more he has learned to use his communication device, the more he has been seeing it as an easy way to score pizza.
He has to know how to respect others, to the best of his ability, and interact in a way that can ensure he will never be wanting for his basic needs.
He collapses into me. Like a melodramatic actor from a 1950s stage play, he will fall into my arms while weeping over being denied a loaf of bread he tried to steal from the kitchen.
An outburst like that is the last step of his ultimate frustration and he does it only when all other avenues of communication fail him.
He used the back of his hand to nudge the iPad back to me. It was his way of saying, “Get out here with that garbage.”
That guilt was because I was still learning the difference between hoping and needing. I was hoping my son would speak. As I’ve come to realize though, I didn’t need it.
Sensory issues or stimulation have nothing to do with it. This was my kid wanting what he wanted and whining until he got it.
My son may have never said a word to me, but we have spoken in so many more ways than that.