Reassurance

The postcode lottery strikes again. Who would have thought we'd have a living, breathing speech therapist sat on our living room sofa just two weeks after seeing the audiologist?

Luckily, we did. And it was all courtesy of the NHS. Seems we have access to a sort of 'community speech therapist' who does informal home visits on the basis of self-referral. How good is that?

Eliott warmed to her straight away and given that our meeting was conducted in the comfort of our own home he did his full repertoire of tricks for her benefit. This was great as she got to observe his play, his social skills, his comprehension and the few words he's trying to say.

She thinks Eliott's problem is confined to his expressive language and this is the most common area for hitches and the easiest to work with. She also said that his troublesome bottom lip (the lip he sucked in so consistently when he was tiny that I was unable to breastfeed him) is likely contributing to the problem. It's not a big, physical concern - it's just a habitual thing, like thumb-sucking, that's holding him back. She suggested we buy lots of whistles and bubbles - anything he has to blow into to operate - to get his mouth muscles moving.

Based on this very early assessment, she thinks he may need a bit of speech therapy - unless his pronunciation corrects itself over the next twelve months (could happen). Her final words were that he is going to be absolutely fine - might take a while, might need some therapy, but he'll get there. My God, was I relieved.

In other news my Dad says that Deal Or No Deal is just about "human greed and boredom". Matt hates Sezer so much that he plans to pick up the phone and singlehandedly vote him out (I'm still more concerned about those knitted boots). And The Da Vinci Code is dry (surprise).

On the work-front I'm looking for coke addicts (not the drink) and former reality TV contestants. Can you help? No, really.