Birthdays, giants and a diagnosis

Let's get the crap stuff out of the way first. Eliott had a hearing test today and the pediatric audiologist confirmed a lot of normal hearing activity, a bit of glue ear and a rather nasty case of language delay. So it seems my fretting was not all that irrational. I am well prepared for a long road ahead. I want my little boy to be a normal, healthy kid. I don't want him to be a rocket scientist or the prime minister - if he's a dustman, I don't even want him to be the best dustman on the block. I just want him to be happy. Potentially, this hitch in his development could affect that happiness which absolutely terrifies me.

I'll be honest; when she mentioned "glue ear" I prayed that was the cause. Common, treatable, concrete diagnosis. But the doc said it wasn't affecting his hearing and he performed the tasks she set with her wonderful wooden dolls and bleeping machine beautifully. She wants to see him again in six months to do more tests and during that time she wants him to be assessed by a speech therapist. She is "really concerned" by his lack of vocabulary and immature jargonning. She acknowledged that many doctors and health visitors will share the "he'll snap out of it!" attitude held by 99.9% of the population until he is two and a half, but she feels it's important to get him in the system and start looking into the possible causes of the problem now. And so do I.

I'm aware that it could be years before we get to the bottom of this and that's if we ever do. The best we can hope for is a straightforward language delay that will eventually recitfy itself - perhaps with a little help from a speech therapist - and pray that it's not the symptom of a wider-reaching developmental problem.

I have never before felt such overwhelming responsibility. I'm really a parent and it's my job to get El through this. I'm shitting it.

Eliott is such a big boy now that he will probably ride the waves on his own terms. And when I say big, I mean big. His two year check confirmed that his height has now crept into the 98th centile (non-parents don't panic - he's not become a Scientologist or anything, it's a scale parents use to make other parents feel bad about their children's weight and stature). I knew there was something afoot when he qualified for the Chessington World of Adventures log flume (call me irresponsible, I don't care). If he carries on at this rate he will be 6ft2 when he is 18. I'm 5ft5 (on a good day). Help me.

His birthday was wonderful. We bowled, we soft-played, we rejoiced at a talking Superman, we grimaced as he refused to eat his Natural Cafe pizza but stuffed his face full of chips at Streatham's Megabowl. He screamed at his candles (he thought we were trying to use the cake to set him alight) and delighted in ripping open his presents. It was two-tastic.

To celebrate, we thought we'd treat you to some lesser-spotted photos of our jolly in Ibiza. Oh, the memories...







Adios.