One of our first observations about Parker was that she was so smart – more aware, more physically capable than our other babies. Her babbling at 3 months was much more advanced and conversational than Asher’s or London’s at the same age. We swore a giggle was right around the corner.
Indifferent Ingrid went ahead with her plan to let Parker go Mon-Fri for the hours of 8 am to 3 pm with her bio mom for treatment. Each morning, a fleet of van drivers sprawls across the city to pick up babies and children to take them to the center. Every afternoon, a very sleep-deprived, cranky Parker is returned to us by Van Driver Maggie, who I’m fairly confident didn’t pass a background check.
And of course, because the children are shuffled from birth parents to treatment case managers to the van drivers, we have zero communication about silly, insignificant things like when she last ate and if she was particularly fussy or feeling sick or if that bruise was from a neighboring toddler who wacked her over the head with his bottle. Stupid stuff really.
So every night is a blind guessing game of if she’s hungry or constipated or tired or all of the above. ”What happens at that place?” we ask her. She hasn’t told us yet.
But the most startling thing about the recent change is the stark regression we saw after 2 weeks of Parker’s “Rehab.” Our smart, vocal baby stopped making sounds. Entirely. Not a squeak. Not a vowel-sound or a goo. Certainly no giggling.
It was so black-and-white. So sudden. After a week of no sounds, the pediatrician confirmed my concerns that Parker’s development was regressing, and fast. He had seen her only a month previous, in all her babbling glory. He ruled out hearing problems, early signs of autism, and any immediate signs of physical trauma. Simply put, whatever “care” occurred at rehab was not enough.
I wish I could say that I was the kind of mom who spent every waking hour on the floor reading baby books and doing baby sign language and enunciating french words for the squishy musical fruit that litter the playmat. Yes, I do all these things, but not every day, hour after hour. I did them more with London and Asher. Parker has had less of my attention, parially because she’s our third baby and partially because I have less time now than I did in Asher’s early months or London’s entire time with me. Parker gets attention and affection and eye-contact and playing on the floor, but it’s not an episode of Sesame Street around here. Which means that the level of interaction and stimulation at rehab must be so depraved, so barren and intellectually empty in order to cause this rapid regression.
We’re watching it unfold right before our eyes with no recourse. No complaint to DCFS or the guardian ad litem will cause them to change or reduce Bio Mom’s time with Parker in rehab. This is the sordid reality of the “best-interests” bullshit that they advertise, yet simultaneously reject.
I called the Rehab center 3 days ago, leaving a message with the children’s case manager. I expressed my concerns about what the doctor has confirmed to be a developmental regression and inquired about the daycare center’s potential need for some additional developmentally appropriate toys/jumperoos/books. Still haven’t heard back.
And then I found out tonight from Bio Mom herself that contrary to Indifferent Ingrid’s assertions that Parker spends half of the day in a rehab-run daycare and half the day with her Bio Mom being toted from room to room for therapy and classes, there is no daycare for children under 6 months. This would have been nice to know 3 weeks ago so that I could appropriately pack Parker’s bag with more toys and books and a playmat and additional bottles (since I assumed these were being washed at a daycare sink…?).
