Alan

Don, with Rach in tow, picked me up at the airport. I saw them just before going into the carousel area. The flight seemed eternal. Nat had wanted to come with me, and then go back and forth, but I assured her that Rach would be fine, and that she'd be more of a help to her mother by staying.

After my eldest and I said our hellos (my issues were mostly with Charlie), I bent down and asked Rach "And how are you doin'?" My poor daughter wore gloves, a hat, a long sleeve shirt, and pants; she vainly tried to scratch herself, but moved her head, in an attempt to place my voice.

"Don't you remember? It's Dad!" Don said in a teasing voice.

"Toddlers don't have the greatest long term memories." I told him, and then I gently said to Rach "I'm gonna carry ya for a while...okay? Maybe that'll jog your memory" I undid the strap of the stroller, and carefully picked her up with a grunt. She seemed to have gained some weight, or was that me just being out of practice? She squirmed a bit, but I talked to her, and she calmed down. Then, I unrolled a sleeve to see the rashes. That was poison ivy all right. My anger at Charlie rose again; if he had been paying attention, Rach wouldn't be suffering like this!

"We've been giving her some cream..."

Don looked around "Where's Natalie?" "She had to stay with her mother..." I answered, as my eldest gave Rach her puppy, which she put in her mouth. It was good to see my daughter again. I missed her! The first long separation is never easy whether it's your first or tenth.

When we got our luggage, and were in Donny's car, I called my wife. She had gotten angry with Charlie, and for a while, blamed me in a way, as her first choice had been to have my sister come over and stay with Rach. However, we made up, after some arguing and talking.

"How was your flight?" she asked.

"Smooth...got that crossword done" I replied, referring to one I had started.

"And Rach?"

"The rashes aren't that bad. She just needs TLC and that cream the doctor gave us."

"I still can't believe that there was poison ivy in a public park!" she exclaimed. "I hope that something's done about it before some other poor kid becomes a victim"

"So do I" I said, and then asked "How's your mother?"

"better. She started knitting an outfit for Rach"

"That's a good sign"

We talked some more, and then she had to go to be there for her mother's physical therapy.

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Rach didn't want to go to sleep when it was her bedtime. Instead of sleeping, she complained, and whined loudly in the dark, as I listened to the baby monitor. I didn't go to her, hoping that she'd calm down. "The boys must have gotten Rach off her routine" I groaned inwardly. It was going to take lots of effort to put her back into it. I had told my sons at least twice to keep the schedule Nat and I had her on. Knowing Charlie, he probably got her out of the crib when she'd start to complain about being in bed, instead of leaving her there, or let her play until late. Already, I missed my wife. The house felt empty without her. With a sigh, I looked through the mail, which Donny had sorted for us, and went to bed after writing a few checks to cover the bills.

Rach woke me up twice that night, and she was ready for breakfast by eight. I got out the corn flakes and toddler formula. Do toddlers really need formula? The boys started drinking regular milk when they were younger than Rach, and they came out pretty healthy. Did it really have the nutrients that a toddler needed, as the box claimed, or was it just marketing bull crap? Either way, she needed to be weaned from it, so I just used low fat milk, with only a little toddler formula. However, she noticed the difference and pushed away the second spoonful.

"Ga!" she said as some of it spilled on her. After she refused two more attempts, I shrugged and dumped the rest, as I planned to give her a fresh bowl when she got hungrier. This was a ploy my first wife and I used with the boys, who were very picky eaters. Maybe if Larry's parents had done that, he wouldn't have this obsession with white food.

So, I left the baby there. She banged on the table, demanding food. After half an hour, I gave her a fresh bowl of cereal with low fat milk. Rach still refused.

"Eat this or there'll be no ice cream!" I told her firmly. I don't run a restaurant here. Again, I tried to give it to her. She pushed the spoon away just before it got into her mouth as she felt it on her lips. She started to whine in baby talk. I realized that her baby talk had regressed a bit. As kids get closer to the age of talking, their babble sounds more and more like regular speak, but in Rach's case, this wasn't true.

"I'm not Charlie..." I reminded her. "You don't have me wrapped around your little finger"

After some more mentions of ice cream on my part, she reluctantly let me feed her the cereal, but then only ate half of it. Oh well. Soon, I gave her the ice cream.

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Before I knew it, the day for Rach's next lesson came up. Bob, as always was on time.

"Hello Rach!" he sat next to her after greeting me and asking about Nat's mother. "It's bob again! How are ya"

My daughter turned her head slightly when he put a finger on her shoulder. She seemed to recognize him.

"Are you ready to get ice cream?" he got a spoon and put it in her right hand. Then he got her to get up, with the precane. Rach was getting good at holding on to it, unless she got upset, or excited. However, my daughter still didn't know how to find her own way around the house.

With precane in hand, he slowly gave her a tour of her immediate surroundings. Bob seemed bored, but acted professionally. I didn't blame him. You had to be repetitive with a little one that was a fact of life.

"This is the couch..." he had her feel it with the precane "and this is a wall"

"Must get old, huh?" I asked gently.

"Sorry...I uh...just had a bad lesson..." he admitted, and then he had an idea. "Why don't you guide her, give her the tour? You seem to be a very good teacher"

"Thank you"

He gave me some pointers, and we started the tour. I made sure she held the precane properly.

"This is a wall" I told her at one point, and then teased, "It's full of your fingerprints...and here is the couch, where your brothers love to sit and watch TV"

Bob and I clapped when she arrived at the kitchen. Then, I lifted her.

"This is where I get the ice cream" I had her touch the freezer handle. Then I opened it, and quickly put her hand on the ice cream container, causing her to recoil. I got a spoonful and she ate it, demanding more.

"Not until after the lesson!" I scolded.

"Alan, have you thought about our conversations on speech therapy?"

"She does seem reluctant about vocalizing" I admitted. "She seems to rely on us to figure out what she wants."

"Not everyone is going to be as attuned to her as you and your wife"

"I know...I've done some thinking about it, though." I added. It was true; being away from my daughter made me see her with new eyes. She makes as little effort as possible to communicate.

"I really think that she needs it. Rachael hasn't made any progress with asking for things. Last lesson, she had another tantrum when I asked her to say 'beep', without even trying first."

"I'll talk with my wife about this" I promised.

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That night, Nat called.

"How'd the lesson go?" she asked.

"All right, Bob's starting to teach her how to navigate to the kitchen on her own" I replied, hearing her sigh of guilt.

"I'm sure the mention of ice cream got her to cooperate" she joked.

"It did..." I said, thinking of how to approach the subject. "Nat... I've been thinking, maybe we should reconsider the possibility of speech therapy"

"Speech therapy? I thought we agreed that it was too soon!" she protested.

"Being a couple of weeks without Rach has given me a new prospective." I tried to explain.

"She shouldn't be pushed!"

"I'm not talking about pushing, but helping her"

"Every child develops differently" she said defensively. I sighed inwardly. Nat was very overprotective of Rach, that's normal, but there are times when that needs to be put in check.

"I know that!" I said with a sigh.

"Don't get snooty!" she retorted.

"I'm not getting 'snooty!"

"Yes you are!"

"Nat... If being snooty means being realistic, than maybe I am" I said wryly. "We use a teacher to help her walk around because of her sight. How's that different from a speech therapist?"

"She was already walking before and so is ready for lessons."

"She's ready to talk!" I insisted. "She's perfectly able to say 'beep' or 'ba'"

Before we could argue any more, Rach started to cry.

TBC

a/n: The angst is just around the corner, and will get worse before it gets better.