No one with a scientific mind will ever believe me, but I knew by the time he was three months old, that something was going on with Caleb. His eyes would roll back in his head inexplicably. When I mentioned this to the team of pediatricians he was seeing on a weekly basis, they ignored me. The focus was always on his weight and other measurements.

Guilt.

I used to blame myself for not pushing the issue. Because I was a new parent, I was extremely conscientious about not appearing too anxious about motherhood. Then again, I'm anxious about everything in which I'm invested. In hindsight, I realize we caught Caleb's "disability"  much earlier than the average parent. It was my anxiety that would not permit me to accept the wisdom of more experienced parents who told me to calm down:

"Boys are just lazy. Ain't nothin' wrong with him."
"He'll walk/talk/eat when he's ready. That boy is just willful."
"My child didn't talk 'til s/he was 20 years old and now s/he's at MIT."

Okay, maybe I exaggerated on the last one, but the message is the same.

Anyway, guilt was not something I expected to contend with on the same level after I had Caleb. When he was growing inside my body, I worried about the quality of the food I ate, the amount of sleep I got, the temperature of my bath water. Who knew that I would long for those days again. At least then I felt like I had some control.

Now, besides sadness, I am overcome with anger. I know I'm not supposed to admit that (just like I am not supposed to admit that I thought my son looked like the love child of Alf and a Wishnik when he was born), but if I can't be honest with myself, who can I be honest with? I'm angry because I see countless parents who consider cursing to be a reasonable form of communication with their kids. I see women who smoke and/or drink during their pregnancy. I read news stories about parents who do horrendous things to their children, and I, who read every book, article, and journal to educate myself on the proper ways to care for a fetus, an infant, and at toddler, I, who deprived myself of everything from deli meat and warm showers for fear of injuring my baby, I, end up with a beautiful, sweet child who suffers. And I suffer with him.