This is not the part where I start talking about being terrified of ’80s rappers going on and on for like a mile a minute; this is the part where I’m terrified because I’ve been informed my son speaks a second language, and it’s not Spanish. It’s gibberish.
I’ve known something was not quite right with my son’s speech for some time. I mean, not everyone refers to the duck as wa duck . I’ve had him tested a few times, but they always said he was age-appropriate. Now that he’s reached 8 years and 7 months, he’s been deemed inappropriate. Finally.
At first I was a little worried he would feel awkward about being pulled out of his regular class for therapy each week, but it turns out he enjoys the attention. It kinda makes me wonder if he’s spent the last few years working on his stutter as a ruse to pick up 28-year-old women who wear sweaters year round.
I am seriously worried about the labels. I previously didn’t know what an IEP was, but I was pretty sure it was tantamount to an IED. Standing out is not good among 8- to 18-year-olds in the entire world. I don’t want the other kids thinking he’s stupid unless he’s still talking about Pokemon when he graduates.
So, anyway, I’m preparing myself for a life as a mother of a stutterer. This involves finishing school, crown placement classes and learning how to deal with hemophilia. At least this is what I’ve determined after watching “The King’s Speech.” You can never be too safe.
The Fretful Mother's Blog 
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