House of Glass

I don’t know why the physical screening of Anonybabe is wreaking such havoc on my sense of self, my sense of place.

When her daycare teacher never comments on how verbose Anonybabe is, how imaginative she is, how she’s picked up quickly on songs, and letters, and numbers, but instead only talks about how achingly slow Anonybabe is on the playground and how she likes to play by herself, I think maybe I have a very warped view of my daughter.

I had decided to think of my daughter as super smart in some ways, super slow in others. And now that I’m told she may need physical therapy, my concept of who she is and where she is has been busted wide open and I find myself panicking about things that in turn seem ridiculous and menacing.

What about Anonybabe’s stilted way of talking? The way she hesitates between each word? I think she has a killer vocabulary for a two year old, but what do I know? I’m not around 2 year olds all day. Maybe I should have thought of her strange intonation and peculiar cadence as a sign of SOMETHING WRONG (insert doom music here).

And yes, chica doesn’t run, jump, play with ease. But she’s progressing. Always has been. At her own turtle pace. Was it wrong of me to think she was just being so very herself by taking her time?

If nobody else sees my daughter as special, why should I? Am I just a stage mom in Anonymom clothing? I feel like there are so many ugly things to unpack here, and I’m not even sure where to start.

I want to go back to seeing this as just physical therapy. A helping hand. I really hope that the therapist who screens Anonybabe says something nice, something comforting about her. My fragile sense of self could use the boost.