Sometimes it is fine, really, almost totally fine. And other parents and other kids have it so much worse, and really it is fine, and probably totally normal, and developmentally appropriate or at least he will likely grow out of it but really nothing to worry about. Except that maybe it is, something to worry about I mean, but how am I to know, I'm not an expert.
And that, my friends, is borderline. And we are, so many of us, trained not to raise a stink for anything less than egregious. We mind our manners. We wait and see. But sometimes even the most reticent among us have to stand up and say, or really, stand up and yell, wait, this isn't right. This is my kid, and this isn't right.
Which is why Owen - challenging, trying, sweeter than a chocolate factory Owen - has both a full speech evaluation and an (almost unbelievably unrelated, but I assure you that it is) ENT appointment to determine whether he needs to have his adenoids removed coming up in the next month. And Owen loves teachers, so the speech thing is no problem, but man does he hate doctors, bringers of throat cultures and shots.
Poor thing. But I'm the mom, and something, somewhere, isn't quite right. Not quite. Borderline. Sorry, baby, but it is my job to stand up and yell about it.