I have been watching Lucy secretly. I have never told anyone and really, I have no business doing so. I’m not certified to diagnose anything. I’m just a Mom with a delayed child.

I have decided Lucy may just be shy. Stay out of it, I counsel myself. Why am I so concerned?

It’s because I want somebody to talk to, to validate my emotions, to share with. I see some modicum of delay in another child and latch on to them, hoping for a kindred spirit in their mother. Hoping for a family with a child like mine. So I can feel better; less alone.

It is emotionally exhausting to not have any answers when asked why my child is climbing the shelves, or putting fingerpaints in his hair. Why he can’t focus, or hold a pencil, and enjoys pouring drinks out instead of ingesting them.

Some days I want to scream, “He’s just a little slow, OK?!”

I began to erase my notes on Lucy as she is carried away. This is about me, not her. I’m more disturbed than she is. She plays alone on the outside, while I am alone on the inside.