When Sarah was pregnant, we would tell people that she was due "sometime in the middle of June," because we understood that a due date is just a guess. We tend to take the same approach on the subject of milestones. Babies will roll over, crawl, walk, talk and steal their first car on their own schedule. The only time we really look at any of the myriad milestones charts online is before Tyler’s next wellness checkup.

Tyler had his nine month appointment today. Unfortunately, I had to miss it due to an urgent issue at work. Last night, I pulled up an assessment checklist to go over, so that we (*cough*Sarah*cough*) would be prepared for the appointment. Does he grab objects with his forefinger and thumb? Does he look for hidden objects? Does he reach out to familiar people? Yes, yes and yes. Excellent, we’re off to a great start. I was slightly frustrated that all the questions referred to baby as "she" or "her", instead of "he" or "him". This made reading the questions aloud difficult when it came time to substitute the female connotation with the male.

Does he make consonant sounds (like ba, ma, ka, ga, da, pa)? Well, no, not really. He says ba a lot, and da maybe twice. Does he associate waving with the word "bye"? Umm, no. We practice "hi". Much more than "bye", but he waves when we wave, not because of me saying the actual word "hi". Does he say ma-ma or da-da? No. Does he try to imitate sounds that you make? No, I didn’t know he should be.

Tyler’s results for each section were either "above average" or "doing well", so I moved on to finding out what order baby teeth typically grow in. I wasn’t particularly concerned with any of it. Mostly because he is my baby boy, and he is absolutely perfect in my eyes.

"Well," Sarah started, "he’s never stopped pulling on his ears since his infection."

Ear infection. The only phrase more vulgar – to parents, at least – than the mother of all curse words. Sarah and I were subjected to a fair share of lost sleep, lost patience and gained frustration from Tyler’s double ear infection. His first round of antibiotics did nothing. We had to switch to a different too-long-to-pronounce drug which he did respond to. But now that Sarah mentioned it, he has been tugging on his ears still. I just assumed he had discovered his ears and was playing with them. When he discovers something else and plays with that for the next sixteen to eighty-three years, I’m not going to rush him to the doctor screaming of his urinary tract infection.

"Doc, he won’t stop tugging on that thing. It’s got to be infected. Or broke. Or something."

"Well, sir, what your son is doing is perfectly nor-"

Tyler yells, "I hate you, dad! I’m seventeen years old! Why won’t you leave me alone?!"

"Oh God, doc. The infection has spread to his brain. I’ll sign all the waivers, we need to get him in an O.R., stat."

The point is, I thought the ear infection was gone. And technically, it’s true. His ears are not infected. But…

Sarah explained the ear situation to the doc and told her that when she (Sarah) was a baby (and into childhood), she had to have multiple surgeries to get tubes put in her ears because she was plagued with ear infections and hearing problems.

Shocked by this, the doctor told Sarah that she was the exception to the rule, and – when tubes are necessary – only one surgery is typically needed. She looked into his ears and said that, even though the infection is gone, he does still have fluid in there.

Aside from the possibility of another ear infection, the concern is that Tyler may not be hearing much more than muddled sounds. Stick your head in a bucket of water if you’re curious.

She wants to see Tyler again in four weeks for a follow-up. If there’s no improvement, we need to see an ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat doctor) to have his ears checked so that they can gauge how much Tyler can hear and advise us from there.

So, what can Sarah and I do about it? We can cross our fingers and hope for the best. The Journal of Clinical Chiropractic Pediatrics has done studies on the prevention of ear infections through regular minor adjustments. Unfortunately, health insurance classifies chiropractors as specialists. What that means to me is a copay that is almost comical, but teeters on absurd. I doubt it would do much good to lie Tyler on the floor and walk across his back myself, as my only chiropractic training involves giving someone a bear-hug and lifting them off the floor to get their back to crack. And I suspect even that would be frowned upon by the professionals in the field.

Anyway, I’ll be over here, crossing my fingers for the next four weeks. I’m also going to fashion a harness that will hold Tyler in a fully upright position 24 hours a day. Fluid cannot possibly defy the laws of gravity.

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