Recently I was randomly selected by a fellow blogger (of whom I greatly admire) to read and review her brand new book, Yell Less, Love More:How the Orange Rhino Mom Stopped Yelling at Her Kids – and How You Can Too! Needless to say I was geeked to be chosen, being that I am a little bit of a superfan of Sheila McCraith, the original Orange Rhino.
What is all this Orange Rhino talk you ask? Well here is Sheila’s explanation in her own words, but to sum it up, Orange Rhinos are those of us who are determined to parent well and effectively without resorting to anger and yelling. (as often as we can, while admitting that we are very human and it is WICKED hard.)
Sheila’s book did not disappoint. It is very much like her blog, in that it is honest, raw at times, funny, and downright smart. She offers up her own accounts of times where she fell victim to her own “stuff” getting in the way of her patience which would then result in yelling. When you read her book, you feel like you are sitting across the table from a fellow mama friend who is telling you her story in confidence. But lucky for us, she is sharing it with the world!
Some of the best parts of the book are the tip boxes at the end of each section. The tips are not only sensible and helpful but they are actually doable! They are not hippie dippie “make love not war” type suggestions but instead, practical, concrete things you can try to avoid blowing up at your children. The more tools you can store in your toolbox against anger, the better prepared you are!
By far, my favorite part of the book is the section on “why” we yell. This really hit home. I thought about times where I snapped at my son, or snapped at one of my students for not following directions. Just as Sheila mentions, nine times out of ten, I did not snap because of what my child did, but more so because of myself. I am the one who is tired, emotionally exhausted, frustrated from my work day, suffering from PMS, hungry, you name it, I’ve been it, and it absolutely affects how you react to your children. Which is why I feel the awful guilt after I do blow up, because I know it is not really because of what others have done, but what I am being affected by in that moment. Just identifying your triggers, and realizing when you are in a more vulnerable state (not enough sleep, rough day at work, etc.) can help you be prepared for when you feel your face getting hot and your heart starting to race.
Definitely get out there and buy Sheila’s book, Yell Less, Love More, and take the pledge to stop yelling for 30 days. You might be surprised at how much you learn about yourself through her words.
Less yelling, more this…..
Sheila has given me a copy of her book and a goody bag to give away to a lucky reader!
Check it out!
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Some days, that is all I want to be.
Just a Mom.
Just another mom of a toddler, changing diapers, making nuggets, pushing swings, reading books, snuggling, singing, navigating tantrums, giggling, and collapsing into bed.
Sometimes I can do just that. (well that and go to work….but that is for another post)
Unfortunately, the majority of the time, that is not the path paved for me.
Lately I find myself being his case manager. His occupational therapist. His speech therapist. His medical manager. His nutritionist. Evan’s project manager, that’s me. I just spent the better part of an hour on the phone with our insurance company trying to fix a claim that I have called about 4 other times. Great way to spend my morning off. Sigh…..
I read a post the other day on the Williams Syndrome Support board from a mom who was asking if other parents felt the same way,if it is just easier to wear all the therapist hats ourselves. To stop relying on professionals to direct our way, and instead take things into our own hands because who else will? I totally hear her plight, and I can see where she is coming from. But it also makes me sad.
Because I just want to be a mom. Plain and simple.
Trying to be “just a mom”
I can remember talking to Evan’s early intervention speech therapist, Miss Becky, (who we miss dearly) after one of his sessions back in the spring. I was asking her numerous questions of how we should be communicating with Evan, to better foster his language. I was probably beating myself up a little for not doing all the “homework” she assigned us from the previous session. She interrupted me and said, “Erin, you have to just be the mom, sometimes. It’s okay. You shouldn’t have to be the the therapist for him, let us do that.”
Wow. That was a little wake up call. Sometimes I feel like all my interactions with my son are calculated. What toy can I choose that will get the most bang for our buck? Will it help his fine motor pincer grasp? Will it foster the need to communicate with me because he will need assistance? Does it provide opportunity for turn taking? Have I put away all the distracting wind up toys and musical things that would pull his attention? Is the dog in the other room so she doesn’t bother us?
And then sometimes I just lie down next to him in the playroom and I pretend to sleep and making funny snoring sounds.
Honestly, that is one of my favorite things to do right now.
Because he crawls over to me, lays his head on my chest and says, “Mommy’s sleeping,” (sounds like Mommy’s sweeping) and then he makes the same funny snoring sound I am. I guess that is calculated on my part too, because I know he will snuggle with me and I do not have to think about anything else but being his mom for those few minutes.
And then I will “wake up” and make sure he is not w sitting, wait for him to initiate communication for another toy and start project managing all over again.
But for those few minutes, I was “just a mom.”
More than enough for me.
September 2013, 26 months
Walking in like a boss
A year ago, we took those pictures. Wearing a plaid button down onesie and walking with a super wide gait and arms up like a T Rex, our son plowed his way into school. I wasn’t sure if it was the right time for me to go back to work. The right time for Evan to be in school. It ended up being the PERFECT time for him to be in school. He flourished and was loved. Boy was he loved. Man, I could go on about that school for hours….
Fast forward a year.
September 2014, 3 years old
P.S. that is only half of his supplies…..
Evan started official big boy school yesterday. At a school with children in grades Preschool-6th grade. If you know me at all, you know I was a teeny bit of a wreck yesterday.
Yes. You are correct. He did just fine. I thought he would be so tired tonight after school for 4 hours and then going to hippotherapy and riding Vixie. Nope. He was energetic and ready to go until about 8:45 pm. Teacher reported he sang, met new friends, and followed all directions today.
Sigh…..worry really does get you nowhere doesn’t it?
Trust me Mama.
I got this.
I know buddy……….
The irony is not lost on me. My son has special needs and I have been a special education teacher since 2000. (with a two year break in there after having Evan) I also have my certification to be a Learning Disabilities Teacher Consultant. (the learning consultant on a child study team)
I taught for 11 years before having my son (now three years old) and all of those year were spent with elementary school age children with varying degrees of need. Whether I wanted to or not, I gained a truckload of patience that I didn’t have prior to being a teacher. I learned how to see the talents in a child, rather than focus on the deficits. I learned how to pick my battles with oppositional students. I discovered that a huge part of being an educator is the relationships you develop with the parents of your students. It has never been my strong point, contacting parents and having difficult conversations about their children. I tend to avoid confrontation and I have never felt confident making those difficult phone calls. Even when I know my points are valid.
But I never imagined how different I would feel when I sat down this past spring to write an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for one of the students I teach. I hadn’t written one since the months before I delivered Evan. I typed up a sentence about this particular student, one that described his dependence on his teachers and one of his weaknesses. After my fingers clicked away, entering the sentence into the system, I found myself feeling uncomfortable. I reread the sentence approximately five times. I realized that I was trying to imagine what I would feel like if Evan had that sentence written in his IEP. Would I appreciate the wording? Would I agree with the observation? Is it necessary?? Here I was wearing my teacher hat, but my mama bear hat was sewn into the brim and there was no stopping her. And this same feeling occurred with each IEP I wrote. I thought longer about each objective. I scrutinized each comment. Was I being thorough? Is the objective measurable and clear?
I also found myself feeling more guilty when I would become frustrated with one of my students. After giving the same direction numerous times, and day after day needing to give the same reminders, I found myself becoming short and visibly agitated with one of my students. This particular student is not easily ruffled and it didn’t seem to phase him one bit. Which of course led me to feel more guilt. I can remember sitting at my desk eating my lunch and thinking, “Erin, that child is doing the best he can with what he has.” and my next thought was, “God, please let Evan’s teachers realize that about him.”
“Please let him try his best, and let his best be enough for his teachers.”
One of those moments where you feel like Oprah should appear in the doorway saying, there it is! Your AHA moment!
I need to listen to that little voice inside me that prayed that Evan’s best would be enough for his teachers at school. I need to accept Evan’s best efforts as well. Not to say that I should not have high expectations for him and help him to strive to rise to the occasion. But when he does, when he is trying his very best to use all he has to accomplish something and it is just not working out the way it is supposed to….I need to realize that it is enough. His effort is enough. HE is enough. The word combinations he is making today is enough. The attention span that causes him to flit from one activity to the next- it is enough. The sensitive hearing that has increased in the past month, it is enough.
I just don’t want him to lose his spark.
zest for everything
Please let his teachers fuel the spark. Inspire him to try his best.
And let me do so with my students.
Let my best be enough.
(well, from my three year old, anyway)
1.) Bubbles trump everything.
2.) Being socially open and friendly is a gift.
3.) Listening is a necessity and can be a learned skill.(sometimes we need to admit we are hearing and not listening)
4.) Patience. Patience. Patience.
5.) He CAN reach that phone/toilet paper roll/glass of water/key ring/doorknob/stack of important papers.
6.) On a related note, don’t EVER underestimate him.
Underestimate me?? Pshaw.
7.) Everything can be made better with the right song.
Yup. He’s singing.
8.) Slow down. When he takes each stair at a painstakingly slow pace, it’s a reminder that it’s okay to slow my roll. Let him turn the light switch on and off a few times. Take your time on the steps. Whatever it is will wait.
9.) Hugs rule.
10.) Birthdays are pretty great. Even when they make mommy a little sad because you are not a little squirt anymore.
Happy Third Birthday Buddy!
I have been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it is to come up with the “right” thing to say when a loved one is facing a tragedy, a difficult time, or is suffering in some way.
As much as I try to see the glass as half full- and I think deep down I believe it still is- bad things continue to happen. They happen every day. It is mostly out of our hands.
Luckily, there is good that happens every day too.
Thank goodness, right?
But as I get older, the tough times keep a rolling for loved ones and for me. I think some of it is just age, the older you get, the older everyone else gets, thus developing more health problems. It might be that when we are younger, we are shielded and protected from the “bad” that exists. When we are young, we don’t have to come up with the “right words” to comfort each other. If we see a friend crying on the playground, we just go up and give our friend a hug. Then we bring them over to play with us.
I think there is much to be learned from how we handled our friends’ tough times as children.
When I lost my dad, I heard so many different things.
“He is in a better place.”
“You will be with him again.”
“This must have happened for a reason, you will know someday.”
“He lived a full and rich life.”
Are those things true? Quite possibly. And maybe 6 months after losing him, those statements would have been easier to hear. But when I was ravaged by the shock, the pain, the awful emptiness of losing a parent- no words were enough. In fact, I barely ever answered the phone. I asked friends to wait to visit. I just couldn’t face the pain in their faces reminding me of my own pain.
There were no words. And that is okay.
When I recently lost another baby, I received an email from a friend who has moved to another state and she wrote: ” I don’t know what to say…..My heart goes out to you, Todd, and Evan.”
I can’t tell you how much I appreciated her message. She admitted that no words really fit the situation. It just sucks, and she wanted to send her love.
There were no words. And that is okay.
Please know that I am not faultless in this department. It is SO hard to sit by while someone suffers and not offer up some type of supportive remark. But I want to share that I have learned it is not the words you choose as much as the offer to sit with someone and mourn/kick rocks/suffer/laugh with them. The text messages I received from friends who just wanted me to know they thought of me that morning. That they wanted to know that if I wanted to yell, I could call them. If I wanted to come over and not talk about anything serious, I could. That they were just there. And that is more than enough. That was so much.
Sometimes there are no words. And that is okay.
I was getting ready in the bathroom the other day and I felt like I needed some music to move me along. One of my favorite albums is the Parenthood TV soundtrack. I am one of those. Those who LOVE soundtracks. My dad and I would croon along to the Cocktail soundtrack on roadtrips. And don’t forget the infamous cassette tape of us singing “I’ve Had the Time of my Life,” from Dirty Dancing. (recorded in an amusement park “recording studio” nonetheless) It’s kind of amazing, and kind of scary.
Anyway, I heard these lyrics, loud and clear:
If you have a broken heart or a battered soul
Find something to hold on to or to let go
To help you through the hard nights like a flask filled with hope
Darlin’ do not fear what you don’t really know
“Cause it won’t last – your worries will pass
All your troubles they don’t stand a chance
And it always hurts the worst when it’s the ones we love the most
Darlin’ do not fear what you don’t really know
Do not fear what you don’t really know.
How simple is that? Do not fear the unknown. If you cannot control it, and it is in the future, however distant- don’t fear it. Clearly this is much easier to read and talk about, than it is to put it into practice.
But I thought I would try.
Should I focus/worry about the things I do not know for 100%, like will Evan develop heart issues? Will I get pregnant again? Will we have another baby with special needs? How will Evan be accepted in school?
Darlin’ do not fear…..focus on the things you DO know.
This I can do.
I know that we participated in a fundraising walk for Williams Syndrome this past weekend and we were surrounded by people who love us.
I know that Evan is finally starting to use the pronoun “I” when talking to us.
I know that Todd gave me a mother’s day card yesterday and in it, he listed all the things I do for Evan and it made me melt.
I know that Evan played with his new teddy bear and practice pretend skills without any prompting.
I know that I work with some of the most supportive individuals.
I know that all I need to do is make Evan giggle (not a hard feat) and my mood will lighten.
I know that the beach is a happy place for me, and I was able to go there a few weekends ago (BY MYSELF) because of the kindness of a friend, and the support of a loving husband.
I know that it brings me a type of peace and pride to share about Williams Syndrome to anyone who will listen.
For now, I can heed Brett Dennen‘s advice.
And it’s all about that, right, the moment to moment observations?
Take a chapter out of Evan’s book.
My heart has been weighed down with this blog entry for about a week. It has haunted me actually. Needing to be written. I mentioned in my last post that I’ve suffered multiple miscarriages. So it’s not a secret, but for some reason I have chosen not to really delve into it on my blog. I think partly because my first miscarriage was so wrapped up in my father’s passing, that I didn’t really process it. Evan was born a year later, and we chalked it up to one of the very common first pregnancy miscarriages that we’ve read about.
But here I sit four years after that dreadful week where I found out I was pregnant, lost my dad and then lost our first baby all in one fell swoop. Since that point we were so incredibly blessed to become pregnant again (very quickly much to our surprise) and have a beautiful baby boy.
Evan Robert June 2011
We received his diagnosis of Williams Syndrome a year later. Since that point, we went back and forth about having another child. The discussion was laden with many factors. Our age, the possibility of having another child with a diagnosis, and my fear of another period of awful post-partum anxiety. Ironically, we didn’t really discuss the possibility of miscarriage. It may have crossed T’s mind, but I didn’t really consider it very seriously. I was more worried about what would happen after the baby was here, not the possibility we might lose another one.
If there is anything I have learned in these last 4 years, it is not to count anything out. The good possibilities and the bad ones. The very good and the very bad. I tried so hard to rest in the mystery, rest in the unknown, put it into God’s hands. I had prided myself in losing the need to ask “why” all the time for the challenges in our lives. I realized that no matter what I did, things were going to happen, good and bad, and I might never know the reason. It’s in God’s hands, I would tell myself.
For whatever reason, God’s hands decided to change our trajectory yet again. He decided to take a second child from us before we could even meet him or her. I am a Christian and darn it, this has tested my faith like nothing else.
I’m pissed. I’m frustrated. I’m devastated. This time around I most definitely am processing it. Whether I want to or not. As my friend Jamie said, “The universe is making sure you go through it.” She is so right. Beautiful, glowing pregnant women everywhere. Some are very treasured friends of mine who I am thrilled for. But that doesn’t make the loss of our baby any easier. Baby showers, pregnancy announcements, smiling babies at Target. National Siblings Day was celebrated all over Facebook the other day. Another reminder that we may not be able to provide a sibling for our son. Repeated blood work to make sure my pregnancy hormones are going down. Unsuccessful blood draws that have led to repeated visits to get MORE blood drawn. Weeks of cramping and bleeding after we lost him or her. I won’t even go into the actual physical process of losing a baby. It’s horrific. I am conflicted about it because I understand why people don’t talk about it, but at the same time, when you go through it you feel so alone. No matter how many people love and support you. You are on this island, wanting to grieve your baby and still physically carrying him. It’s simply awful.
It’s not fair. I want to kick rocks and scream ala Charlie Brown.
Actually, I want to stop kicking rocks and crying. I want to get over this, and move on. But I know that’s the whole point of crying and kicking rocks. In order to get through grief, you actually have to feel it. Well jeez. That just stinks. I like to keep moving. To keep busy and focus on the beauty that is around me, not the pain and crappy stuff. It’s not really part of my genetic make-up to focus on the negative. But it’s also part of my genetic make-up to take care of everyone around me and sort of forget myself.
So…..here I sit. and I walk with Sorrow. And I am sharing it with you because it is the only way I know how to be honest with myself. The days I sat at home waiting to pass the baby, I tried to find blogs about miscarriage that would help me feel less alone, but also give me some hope. This poem gave a little light to my walk:
I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.
I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But, oh! The things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.
-Robert Browning Hamilton
So today I walk with Sorrow. And as strange as it sounds, I feel less alone for it.
I loved Punky Brewster growing up.
Who wouldn’t want to be as cool as this chick?
So much so that I would wear a bandana tied around my knee and I wished my name was Soleil or Moon more than once. One particular episode remains emblazoned in my mind. The “Very Special Episode” surrounding the exclusive club, The Chiclets. Click HERE to see them in all their scrunch sock glory. You can watch the first minute or so to get the idea. The Chiclets were this “totally awesome” group of stylish sixth graders that Punky was dying to be a part of. Turns out that they are “like totally” into drugs. Specifically “grass, a few uppers, and some nose candy.” Pretty sure I had no clue what any of that was when I was eight years old. Of course, Punky decides that she does NOT need to be a Chiclet and that she is much better off following Nancy’s Reagan’s advice and creating a “Just Say No” club.
I may or may not have created a similar club with my best friend on the second grade playground that met over by the see saws.
(around 1986) I was probably wearing this awesome floral romper as well.
Clubs. Secret societies. Exclusive groups with super cool people in them.
We have all wanted to be a part of one at some point in our lives.
As an adult I have realized that I have been thrust into several of these clubs without my permission. Hoodwinked you might say.
The sudden loss of a parent club
The parent of a child with special needs club
The multiple miscarriages club
I don’t think a super cool gal like Emily with her charm necklace and pastel sweater came up to me when I turned 30 and said, “Hey, Erin, wouldn’t it be great if you joined our club? You know, the one where all the members have lost a parent before they could become a grandparent to your children? Do you want to join the club where all the members have suffered more than one miscarriage?”
I think I would have remembered that.
So here I am. A member of several clubs. Ones I would never have asked for membership.
But something crazy has happened. The messy, beautiful person I am today, would not be nearly as messy, and nearly as beautiful if not for being a member of these clubs. And not just because of the circumstances that led to my membership. Not because I lost my father without warning almost 4 years ago. Not because I have lost two babies before I could even meet them and hold them in my arms. Not because I am the proud mother of a little boy with Williams Syndrome
President of my club
Because of the INCREDIBLE club members I have been so privileged to meet. Because of the women who have become my friends. My sisters. My guides through this brutiful life. I would never have started blogging if it weren’t for my membership. I would never have met some of the most amazing women who I can reach out to any time of day or night and I know they will “get it.” I don’t have to explain what it feels like to wake up in a sweat because I dreamt about my father again. I don’t have to feel guilty when I message one of them to tell them I am feeling super overwhelmed by the prospect of Evan starting preschool with his school district peers.
I laugh with them. I cry with them. I spit nails of anger with them.
They somehow know me without needing to have been in my life for years and years. Some I have never even met in person. Some I did meet and it felt like they were a member of my Just Say No club on the playground in second grade.
I would never have met them if I had not gone through some of the most painful, difficult, and life changing events of my life.
Just this weekend I had the absolute privilege of attending a brunch for mothers of children with Williams Syndrome. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air for 4 hours. I laughed, I cried, I listened and I shared. We have had Evan’s diagnosis for almost two years now, and there were some mothers with very newly diagnosed infants at home. I could see the fear, the pain, the hope in their eyes. And for once, I actually felt I could speak from experience and maybe even ease their worry a little.
Because of the pain, the struggle, the worry I have felt, I can support others who are going through similar experiences. One sweet mama told me that my blog actually helped her see a future for her daughter, helped her to see past the colicky, sleepless nights that are her everyday right now. Tears immediately came to my eyes.
There it was, the reason I started blogging. To help others who might need a voice, who might need to feel less alone. And to think that might actually be happening? Phew.
Thank goodness Emily in all her pastel scrunchy glory did not ask me to become a member of any of these clubs. Because I would have just said no.
(see what I did there?)
Sometimes we do not get asked. And we feel very angry about that.
Ahem….We meaning me of course……but maybe you are angry too? and that is more than okay, it is right and totally warranted. But I am just so glad that I can pull myself out of that murky angry place and realize that other women need to hear that it CAN be okay. You CAN lose a parent and wake up one day and realize it is not the first thing you think of. You CAN raise a child with special needs and see joy and beauty time and time again. Miscarriages do happen and they suck big time but you are NOT alone. There are so many women who have walked your path and would love to walk it with you. Or kick rocks. Or drink wine, whatever works.
I have plenty of women who did all of those things with me, and continue to.
I’m glad they are in my club. Maybe you are too?
This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!
Colorado August 2010
I wish I could give you a big hug. Tell you that you are going to make it through the summer okay. The unbearably heavy sadness will begin to lift and change into a more permanent hole in your heart. It doesn’t sound great, but it is much better than the pain you are in now. 4 years later and I still think about him almost every day. But it is not the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning anymore. When I dream about my dad now, I wake up happy that I had a chance to see him. It is not going to make any more sense than it does now. I wish it did. But you will find ways to remember him. Ways to honor him in your every day life. You don’t realize it, but next month you are going to discover you are pregnant. It will blow you away considering your pregnancy loss just two short months ago. You are going to get a chance to see glimpses of your father every day, through the eyes of your son, Evan.
Dear soon to be mama,
Tomorrow your life will change in ways I cannot make you understand right now. You will pace around the house tonight eating waffles and stopping every now and again to wince from what you “think” are the real deal contractions. Hold on sister, because they are just the previews. I want to tell you to breathe. Breathe in the peace, the silence, the feeling of being one with your son before he is born. Before he is out in the world and you have to care for him in such a different way. Know that things are going to change and they are going to be hard. Really hard. But I can tell you with certainty, it will not last forever. It is okay if you don’t make it without medication during the birth. It is okay if you struggle with nursing. As a good friend of ours says all the time, “no one gives out medals if you do those things.” GIVE YOURSELF GRACE.
One day old Evan in the NICU
Dear Mama of a newborn in the NICU,
It’s going to be okay. He is fine in there, he is cared for so well by those dedicated nurses. I know you want him back in your room with you so badly because he is your little guy, you can’t believe how quickly he was swept away. But in a few days you will be home with him and you will be wondering why you didn’t sleep a little more while he was in the NICU in such good hands. His levels will increase, and you will take him home. Breathe.
Evan- a few days old June 2011
Dear very new mama with newborn at home,
This is the hardest letter to write. I look at this picture and I know the turmoil you are feeling. I know the insanely strong love you are feeling for that little man but also the intense feelings of responsibility, fear, worry, and guilt that are swirling around in your very sleep deprived head. I know you feel like you are physically attached to your child, and it is hard to get a chance to shower, sleep, eat, without needing to nurse, pump, or prepare for the next nursing session. And oh the guilt…..oh the horrible, purposeless, painful guilt you feel every time you wish for a moment by yourself. And then by the grace of god, you get one of those moments and you lie there trying to nap but you can’t because you feel like you should be holding him. Everyone is telling you how awesome it is to have a newborn and you just want that to be true. Instead you are walking around like a zombie, and worrying that you are not fit to be Evan’s mother.
Okay, so that is where I step in. You are wrong. You are the best mommy that little guy has, and he needs you. He needs you to take care of yourself and GIVE YOURSELF GRACE. No one is going to judge you if you need a nap. No one is going to judge you when you need to stop nursing because it is too much. It is hard right now. Capital H. HARD. Not hours and hours of non stop joy. Hard. Your hormones are plummeting, your hair is falling out, and you are getting up 4-5 times a night to care for your son. It is okay for it to be hard. Let it be what it is and I can tell you…..he WILL sleep through the night. Not when he is three, like some very mean moms have told you……When is about 13 months he will start to consistently sleep through the night. And before then you will get blocks of 5 hours at a time which will feel like absolute heaven. And all those doubts, those fears, those ugly nasty statements of guilt and shame you keep rolling around your head? They will soon lift as well. You will realize, you are doing okay. He is in one piece. You can take showers and he will sit in the bouncy seat and be just fine. You can make breakfast while he plays on the carpet with his toys. The HARD will soon become your normal and you will not even realize when the change happens.
Evan a few weeks shy of one year old May 2012
Dear Mama of an almost one year old,
This month is going to end on a very tough note for you. You have no idea what the doctors are going to tell you about your beautiful baby boy who lights up your every day. You have been cleaning up after hours and hours of repeated vomiting. You flinch when he coughs or gags because you know what follows. You have been trying different foods and trying some of the same foods Evan used to eat and he won’t have any of it. You worry because his weight has plateaued and the doctors just can’t seem to figure it out. You are going to go through his birthday weekend telling yourself that he does not have any genetic condition. That he just has a gastrointestinal issue and medicine or surgery will fix it one day. Mama, I say this gently, but you are wrong, and as I have said before- it is all going to be okay. Evan’s diagnosis will not change one bit about your relationship with him. If anything, mama you are going to become one dedicated advocate for your son. And Evan is going to start Early Intervention services, which will be scary, strange, and hard for you at first, but soon it will become a welcome support that you look forward to each week. Evan is going to flourish with his therapists. He will be eating some solids by the end of the summer. You would never believe it, but today, at almost three years old, Evan ate chicken nuggets, fries, and apple sauce for dinner. Toddler gourmet for sure, but I know how impossible that seems to you now. But he will. Keep at it mama, he needs you to be strong for him. That doesn’t mean you can’t cry or mourn the loss of the child and future that you had all planned in your head. Tears do not negate strength. They are a sign that you are being honest with yourself. But please know, that as you learn more about Williams Syndrome , the easier it will all become. Evan is going to do some amazing things. Just wait until you hear him say “I love you,” for the first time, ride a horse, and walk across the playground. It’s all worth it. He’s even going to go to school in the next few years. I know, don’t throw up. You are going to survive it. It is going to be so wonderful for him. And for you and Todd.
This is going to happen a few years from now.
I’m telling you. It’s going to be okay. xoxoxo