A Letter to Maria

Dear Maria,

I remember, clearly, the first time your little bottom lip came out when someone unfamiliar talked to you. You were 14 weeks old and I dressed you up in your first autumn outfit and popped you in the stroller to take a walk on a beautiful early fall day. We stopped in to see some of my coworkers. I took you out of your stroller and held you upright so you could look around. A good friend of mine, whom you had seen several times before, was the first to walk up to you and say hello. You flashed a big gummy smile as she held your hand and spoke in her typical animated way. As we approached the door to leave, a woman whom you had never met (but was an acquaintance of mine) stopped to talk to me and greeted you with a warm smile. Your face froze like a deer in headlights and your bottom lip stuck out with the saddest (but cutest) pout ever. Within about five seconds, you melted into a sad cry. I remember thinking how early it was for you to show signs of stranger anxiety.

As the months passed, you stopped crying at the sight of any stranger, but your perfected the deer-in-headlights look. I'll admit it was sort comical to watch people make goofy faces and noises in the hopes of getting you to smile and all you gave them was a reminder of how silly they looked. When you were just 20 months old, you verbalized your shyness to me for the first time.

One of your favorite books at the time was "Quick as a Cricket" by Audrey Wood. You loved to finish each line of the book. I'd say, "I'm as quick as a __". You'd quickly jump in with, "CRICKET!" I'd say, "I'm as slow as a __". "SNAIL!" you'd shout. You found a way to articulate your current disposition by using lines from the book. "Are you being nice to the kitty?" I'd ask as your were over-enthusiastically petting Manny. "Gentle as a lamb" you'd remind yourself aloud. Once, while in your gymnastics class with five other toddlers, you found yourself next in line for a turn on the "Peter Pan" that would hoist you up in the air and make you feel like you were flying. Your excitement was replaced by nervousness (as was mine) as your turn was just moments away. You leaned close to my ear and whispered, "I'm as shy as a shrimp." I was stunned and overwhelmed that you used WORDS not actions to communicate your uneasiness. You didn't cling to my neck and cry. You simply told me that you were nervous. You still elected to take your turn that day and raced for the front of the line each time after that.

Over the years, I always found myself dreading the moments when you were put on the spot. Someone would innocently ask, "So what's your name?" or say "What a pretty dress!". Rather than bat your eyelashes or give some response reminiscent of kids on Kids Say the Darndest Things, you would just stare. I could always feel the invariable remarks coming..."Wow! Does she ever talk?!". I knew how young you were when you first told me that you were shy and it wasn't long before I came to the realization that if you were aware of your shyness, you were certainly perceptive of the comments of others. You would just look away or pretend to be disinterested. I hoped this was the case. I hoped that people weren't perpetuating the self-fulfilling prophecy and I was just standing idly by. I was encouraged by your kindergarten year. You effortlessly made lots of friends and your teacher seemed touched by the fact that you were progressively warming up to her rather than put off by your initial shyness.

During an annual well-visit, the pediatrician turned to me and said, "So I see that [the pediatrician she normally saw] has noted possible selective mutism here. Are you taking her for any services to help her with that?" I was floored. I wondered why that I was the first I had heard of that. I wondered if I was finally catching a glimpse of what the mother's of the children labeled "SED" (I was working in intervention services for those children at the time) must feel like to hear their child was given a diagnosis that was in the DSM-IV. I wondered why she said that right in front you and how she, a MEDICAL "PROFESSIONAL", could be so inconsiderate of your feelings. Then, the thought that shook me the most, I wondered how you were feeling after hearing a doctor ask your mommy if she had taken you for help with your "problem". I worked so hard to make sure you never let your shyness shake your confidence further and now someone may have planted a seed that you have a problem and a problem that is serious enough to need a doctor. As soon as we left, I took you to Panera and we talked over chocolate milk and iced green tea.

I asked you how you felt about what the doctor said. You didn't play dumb, you didn't beat around the bush. You asked me, point blank, "Do I need to go to a special doctor because I'm shy?". I asked you if you wanted to. You said you didn't and that you would keep trying. We talked for a long time (15 minutes of a conversation about one thing is a looong time to you) and we agreed that you would need to be polite (e.g. saying "please" and "thank you", at least waving hello back to someone who says hi to you) and would need to answer questions asked by teachers and doctors. You seemed to understand when I explained that people answer for you and make comments to me because they may feel like you don't like them or are uncomfortable by your silence. You said you felt embarrassed when people said things to you or me and that you wanted me to explain to those who bothered to ask that you just need some extra time while you think about what you want to say and that you will talk to them.

Since that time, we continue to talk about it, openly. I am so proud of you for all the progress you have made. I know how hard you have been trying and it shows. When you delivered your line in the school play last year, up on stage, into a microphone, in front of dozens and dozens of students and their families, louder and clearer than anyone else in your class, I wanted to stand up on my chair and clap for you like the mom of a little league player who just hit a home run.

People who don't know you and/or don't take the time to talk to me, privately, about their questions may still say things to you or to me in front of you that make you feel embarrassed. I think we've all been handling it really well...especially you.

Now that your little (but very loud and outgoing) sister is going to the same school as you and has the same teachers you did, I hope they realize that you are different people with different talents and different personalities. So far, almost everyone has said that they've enjoyed getting to know your little sister but really value your differences and make a point to say that they still miss getting to be your teacher. Almost everyone...except for one. When that particular person turned to me as I stood with you and your sister on either side of me and said, (pointing to Ava) "I really have enjoyed this one because this one talks!", my heart broke for you. You later said to me, in a very matter-of-fact way, "Teachers will like Ava more because she's not shy". I corrected you and said that people may get to know Ava faster for that reason, but that there was no reason to like one more than the other because they are both fabulous and amazing.

Not for one second, for one tiny millisecond, should you feel like anyone is better than you because they find it easier to speak freely in unfamiliar situations. You are so smart, so funny, and have the quickest, smartest wit of any seven-year-old I have ever met. It's a gift. It's a gift that you save for those who take the extra few seconds to listen for your answers, who take the time to get to know you, and who, even once, take the time to squat down to eye level and talk to you for just a minute rather than look down to you, bark out a question, and expect an immediate answer. I always tell you that I'm so lucky to have two girls that are so different because more than one of you would make me crazy. You always laugh as the prospect of a loud house with two of Ava or constant fighting over the Wii with two of you is pretty absurd. I may be biased, but I'm pretty sure that your daddy and I have the best two little girls ever. You are poised and articulate. You acknowledge that you are talented when it comes to drawing and video games. Most importantly, you are so accepting of others, their personality quirks, their differences. This is why so many people love you. YOU. ARE. FINE.

Love,

Mommy