Dear speech therapist who was so determined to slap a label on my son,
On Tuesday, I brought my 7-month old son to see you because he seemed to have some feeding issues. Within about 10 minutes of meeting him, you had decided that he has Sensory Integration Disorder.
Your basis for this diagnosis? First off, he didn't like it when you donned those bright blue gloves and started touching his face.
I'm guessing that to a baby, having your face touched by some crazy blue hands that belong to a complete stranger is the equivalent of someone I just met giving me a pap smear. Please... say hello, introduce yourself and shake my hand before sticking that speculum up my bajingo.
You were also concerned that he didn't like to have his face wiped. How about I hold YOU down in a chair and proceed to wipe a towel repeatedly over your mouth and see how happy it makes you.
What nailed it for you is when he refused to eat your jar of nasty, no-name carrots. Well crap... I can't say that I blame him. If you had told me, I could have brought him something halfway decent. Perhaps he's a bit of a food snob.
Isn't 7 months a little young to be labeling someone? And what of these labels, anyway? Why does everyone have to be something. Why can't my son just be an adorably quirky guy who doesn't like to eat some days? You're saying that anyone who doesn't fit the standard (read: boring) mold, must have something wrong with them. What a crock. Take me for example:
I don't like the feel of corduroy or velvet
I can't stand shirts with only one pocket.
Crowds bother me.
I don't like people I don't know standing too close to me.
High pitched noises are like nails on a blackboard to me. So are nails on a blackboard.
I hate the smell of fish, I think football is boring, and I abhor it when people pee on the toilet seat and don't clean up after themselves.
I also don't suffer fools.
Gee, if you were recommending 60-90 minute therapy sessions, 3 days a week for a baby that didn't want to be touched by you, I can only imagine that you would have me institutionalized.
You know what, despite my many issues... I turned out pretty okay. Without intensive therapy.
I respect that you went to school and received your degree in this, but my gut, mom-tuition, and bullshit detector trump those letters after your name any day.
Yours very sincerely (and quirkily),
1 week ago