Embracing My Child “As Is”

It Took About 30 Seconds

The sonographer pointed to what was apparently NOT an arm, wrote “It’s A BOY!” on the screen, and I had his entire childhood mapped out. He would love books and be gregarious like me, in addition to being brilliant in math and science like his father. He would play soccer (how cute is that?!), be great at it (obviously), and our house would be the one that all the kids like to hang out at after practice. I could see them all perched around the kitchen table, sweaty and happy, eating the cookies I made from scratch and drinking all the sodas out of the fridge. I’m clearly incredibly logical and realistic, folks.

In hindsight, I’m fairly certain I was expecting to give birth to Jonathan Taylor Thomas’ character from Home Improvement. I grew up with sisters. Leave me alone. Anyway . . . .

Expecting a baby means dreaming about his future and the wonderful life he’s going to lead. I’m pretty sure that no pregnant woman on earth says, “AWWWW! I can’t wait until his first day of occupational therapy!” or “I just know she’s going to have feeding issues!” That would be weird. Weirder than my certainty that Randy Taylor was going to be delivering witty asides from my living room while I cooked dinner? Doubtful. But I digress.

Shattering the Image

I’ve got two boys now. The oldest is just about to turn nine. He made me a mother. He is the dream-come-true MIRACLE that is my first born. He’s also the unfortunate bearer of Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Separation Anxiety, and OCD. SPD, motor delays, and “probable ADHD” were earlier labels. Go big or go home!

This didn’t bode well for my “soccer team captain” daydreams, but I was predictably undeterred.

My thoughts during those first five years can be summed up with “I’m his mama. I’m NOT going to take this lying down. I’m going to FIX ALL THE THINGS. I want him to be happy and wonderful and experience EVERYTHING that the other kids are doing, and I’m absolutely certain that I can make it happen, so just MOVE.” I’m nothing, if not reasonable.

I read every book, Googled like a BOSS, scheduled all the therapy, and sought out the best doctors; I’ve been fighting hard to help him for as long as I can remember. (Y’all feel free to give me a virtual high five for that part.) 

However, I also never altered my original idea of what his childhood should look like, and deep down inside, I was waiting for us to find the magical concoction of medicine and therapy that would make him normal. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I pictured the end goal as being “standard issue boy.”

When it came to my precious baby, I was certain that happiness = stereotype. If I can get him comfortable on that T-ball team, then I know he will love it and make so many friends! If I can get him over his fear of loud places, he’s going to have a BLAST at all those birthday parties! If we can solve those sensory issues, he’s going to make a lifetime of memories on long hikes with his daddy! If he takes enough social skills classes, he’s going to master those interactions and have TONS of awesome friends! HE WILL, DANG IT! I CAN DO THIS FOR HIM!

Embracing the Reality

Newsflash, Five-Years-Ago-Me: It’s not going to happen. You are loving and caring and mean so well, but JUST NO. Here’s the thing, friends . . . God gifted me with THIS BOY. Not the boy I created in a daydream but the one with the big dimples who sits across from me at dinner. I am blessed with an awe-inspiring, gifted, loving, one-of-a-kind soul that I have the privilege to raise. Granted, he was born with a disorder that we hate, but it’s also an integral part of who he is. And “who he is” is absolutely AMAZING.

I will always fight the battle against his mental illness right beside him, but my specific orders are to keep this insidious beast from taking away his ability to handle the business of living, NOT to create an entirely new person.

Onward and Upward

Mamas of sick kiddos, it’s time to let yourself grieve for the child you thought you would have. You need to give yourself over to it and mourn the carefree little one who doesn’t have to be stronger and braver and deal with getting the short end of the stick. It’s not fair that our babies aren’t THOSE babies. Seemingly perfect. Normal.

Now, let it go. It feels like JOY and LOVE and HAPPINESS when you release it. My child is always going to deal with mental illness and be “different.” That difference also happens to make him brilliant, empathetic, and kind in ways that continue to blow my mind.  He doesn’t fit the standard mold, but he’s funny and cool and my boy. He wouldn’t be the same if he did fit that mold. And that just won’t do . . . I’m a huge fan of that kid. As is.

The Truth

Letting go of the dream and embracing the reality applies to all of us, y’all. Whether you have a popular athlete on your hands or an introverted loner, they are their own people. We want their lives to be happy to the point that it’s a tangible ache . . . but happy doesn’t always equal the status quo. Happy isn’t all wrapped up in popularity, athleticism, or beauty. It’s whatever lights up his face and deepens the dimples that you’ve been melting over since the first day you laid eyes on him. And whatever that is, it’s enough.

The Fort Worth Moms Blog hosts 19 Neighbor Groups via Facebook, including the Moms of Special Needs Tarrant County. These groups are free to join and offer online and offline opportunities to build relationships and gain resources from other moms in the area.