I've been noticing it for a few months now, afraid to voice my concerns over fears of the feedback.
I've been watching Sprite and something is....OFF.
I've seen other toddlers fall victim to it. I was hoping by limiting her access to modified sugars and high fructose corn syrup, I may avoid it infiltrating our home and my happy toddler. I was wrong.
I think Sprite has it, the same thing that affects so many other children out there. In fact, I know she does.
John and I were sitting on the couch and Sprite walked over to her little bench. I watched as she climbed from the seat to the table and started to stabilize herself to stand up. "Sprite, get down," I said, my eyes on her every move. Sprite acted as if she didn't hear anything and continued to pull her upper body to standing position. "Sprite!" I warned, my voice becoming more authoritative and edging toward Time Out tone. She ignored me.
John looked away from the tv and saw what was happening. "Sprite, get off the table," he said. She immediately crouched down and assumed a sitting position, looking at her father in meek response.
I thought it may be a fluke. Maybe I just looked into it too deeply. Surely, I was making a mountain out of a mole hill. So I denied it. I didn't want to be one of those mothers, you know?
Then it happened again:
I was getting Sprite ready for bed. I tried to call her over to me so I could change her into her night clothes and she went on about her task of putting her stuffed animals to sleep without acknowledging my presence. I sang out the ABC's, nothing. I counted to 5 for surely she would finish the chant, nada. I asked for a kiss, only the sound of my resulting sigh of grief answered my plea. John walked in and asked Sprite where her pajamas were and she ran over to me and grabbed them from my lap.
This was my proof.
I've looked into possible cures for this. Unfortunately, my search has been fruitless as nothing seems to help. I want to make an appointment with her pediatrician, but John claims there's nothing wrong. Of course there's nothing wrong on his end! Sprite responds to him as if on cue! He can't come to terms with something so obvious. A diagnosis must be a beginning, not an end, right?
So, I consulted a friend who told me of a test to give Sprite, one not involving John, which should cement this chilling prognosis. Listening closely, I wrote her directions down word for word and gave Sprite the test that very night.
"Sprite!" I called out. She didn't come out from her room. I called out again, adding, "Sprite, where's Harry?" Surely that would pull her away from whatever she was doing. Harry, given his warning, scurried for the sanctuary under my bed, but Sprite did not answer my call. I tried once more. "Sprite, come see Mickey Mouse!" Her doorway remained empty.
Then, I did it. "Sprite! Want a cookie?"
I heard her before I saw her scrambling out of her room and running to me. "Cookie? Um! Um! Pease!" Her hands were stretched out, waiting for the promised treat.
No more tests. I'm done wondering. I'm declaring it.
My child has Selective Hearing Disorder, SHD.
Check your child closely. From what I'm told, it affects every child in some manner and they have to GROW out of it. And in 10 out of 10 kids, it gets worse before it gets better. The teenage years are even tougher than the toddler years. (I'm scared.)
I've been told the only way to treat SHD is with patience...Do you need a prescription for that?