Twinges of Guilt

Every mother, even those with only neuro-typical kids, knows that each child develops at a different pace.  Just because two kids have the same mother and the same father and grow up in the same household does not mean they will have similar personalities.  This is undeniably true.  I’ve always thought that similar personalities in siblings are a freak of nature.  Maybe because I am one of four and none of us are alike.

Yet, I still find myself guilty when I celebrate the baby’s milestones.  I feel as though I am somehow being disloyal to H.  I do believe, thoroughly and truly, that he is perfect and wonderful as he is; I could not love him more.  But I do feel an extra bit of excitement to know that the baby is a neuro-typical child. 

I’m not sure I am cut out to be the mother of a special needs child.  I’m doing it, but I’m not sure I’m doing it well.  There are so many people out there who do it better.  There are actually people out there who choose to do it.  This was not something I signed up for, but had thrust upon me. 

I am always looking for signs that the baby might not be neuro-typical.  I know it is because I feel as though we missed a lot of early intervention with H because I didn’t know sooner.  Or, at least, I didn’t officially recognize it; deep down I knew something was off by the time he was six months old.  I just allowed myself to be told by everyone, including the pediatrician, that it was because he was a boy or late developer or a preemie.  I still feel behind the eight ball and I just don’t want to be there with two children.

I am just so happy that the baby says “mama” and doesn’t scream his head off in the bathtub or try to drown himself when I wash his hair.  I’m also thrilled that he isn’t so easy-going in some situations; something I now realize was H’s way of shutting down to deal with being overwhelmed.  Yet, if I celebrate these things and the normal milestones of first words and other communication, I just can’t help feeling like I am saying something is wrong with H.  That he isn’t perfect and whole.  He might not be the average kid, but he IS perfect and whole.

Either way I feel guilty.  I feel as though I’m slighting a child no matter how I handle it.  Maybe it’s because people will ask if I worry about the baby.  Or that our (new) pediatrician looks harder at the baby because of family history and usually tells me when I answer questions that I know what I’m looking for. 

Did I do wrong by H in the first place by allowing my concerns to be dismissed?  I just wanted to believe that was it.  And how horrible is that?  Is it because I won’t repeat the same mistakes?

I don’t know what it is, or why it is.  I just know that I have to figure out a way to celebrate both children as freely as I can.  I don’t have these pangs with my older two, but then again, they are long past hitting several milestones in a year and potty-training.  Oh, that potty-training…

At Least I Keep Up On Laundry

We’ve all been there.  The point where we are about to break.  When everything seems to be spiraling out of control.  Even before I had my challenging child, I had been pushed and prodded into that spot where life seems like a black hole.  And, deep down, we all know the moment will pass and we will all come out of it just fine. 

We all have our own ways of dealing with it—writing, grabbing a cup of coffee with friends, checking out the latest chick flick, dinner with hubby, chocolate.  Lately, I’ve found a little way of sitting back and reminding myself that “this too, shall pass.”  I put it in perspective.

·         It’s not that H still isn’t potty trained at 5 ½; he is making sure I don’t fall behind on laundry.

·         It’s not that H doesn’t understand language; he’s making sure we learn to choose our words carefully.

·         It’s not that H can’t stand still; he’s making sure I’m getting plenty of exercise.

·         It’s not that H can’t handle shopping trips; he’s forcing us to stick to our budget.

·         It’s not that H isn’t responding as well to therapy as we had hope; he’s teaching the therapists to work hard, reach further, and learn more.

A friend told me that I shouldn’t worry about it, that God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle.  My thoughts were that God doesn’t know me very well then.  But that’s not true.  We are getting through this.  We might not know exactly what to do, or how to do it, but we are learning.  Every day is a learning experience.  For all of us.  H is a square peg learning how to fit in a round world, and the rest of us are learning how to help him. 

So, during my times of thinking that running away and joining the circus is a viable option, I put a positive spin on things.  Sometimes it really helps me see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Other times it just gives me a giggle.  Every time though, it reminds me that as hard as this is on me, it’s just as hard on him.  I do believe there is a reason for why he is the way he is and why he is in our lives.  He truly is a wonderful little boy with lots of great qualities—like his sense of humor, his drive, his ability to work hard, his intelligence, that gorgeous smile…