My partner and I often find ourselves unraveling the complexities of our middle child’s unique brain. A rare medical diagnosis hovering over our baby, just six months old, can send us spiraling into a whirlwind of fears and uncertainties. Yet, lacking the ability to foresee the future, we strive to focus on the present moment.
And therein lies the incredible intricacy of a special needs mom’s mind. It’s like a hub without a map, a reservoir overflowing with information that sometimes spills out in unexpected, bold, and even comical ways.
Remember those old public service announcements that compared a brain on drugs to a frying egg? If that’s a brain on drugs, then the special needs mom’s brain is a fully-loaded omelet – brimming with ham, herbs, bell peppers, and a medley of cheeses. It’s a chaotic yet delicious concoction, and though it may seem as if it can hold everything, there’s a limit to its capacity before it needs to pause and regroup.
Will he walk? Will he talk? Will he find love? Will he make friends? Will the world show him kindness? Will we have enough resources? Will we have enough time? Sleep.
Is this email too long for his fourth-grade teacher? My inner voice screams “YES!” but how do you condense your child into a few sentences? So, I take a deep breath and hit send.
Sometimes I think I should have pursued law school. It would have made navigating the IEP paperwork a bit easier. But then I remember that I’m already behind on grading my own students’ assignments while waiting in the lobby of my son’s therapy session. One of my students just conquered a significant learning challenge, and I wish I could share my pride with his mother, who sacrificed her career to devote herself fully to him.
I know it’s not allowed to communicate with parents while teaching college, but the thought of that mother lingers. I envision her pacing through the house, filled with determination. Now, here he is, thriving in my English class, despite his learning differences. I try to air-high-five a mother I’ve never met, but I accidentally honk my horn instead – and no one noticed. That’s another aspect of being a special needs mom: a profound sense of solitude, filled with highs and lows, and thoughts that often feel too intricate to share with anyone.
However, the checkout clerk at the grocery store, the one with the compassionate gaze, she understands. Years ago, she made the mistake of asking, “How’s your day?” For a special needs mom, that question can lead down various paths. It may evoke tears or a desire to share a recent triumph. On this particular day, after a grueling IEP meeting, when she asked, the floodgates opened.
With unrestrained excitement, I recounted our advocacy journey, how we fought for our son’s needs, and miraculously came out on top. In my mind, I imagined the meeting starting with a victorious “How do you like me now?” relief. Thankfully, there was no one in line behind me, so I could share my story.
She listened intently and then expressed her gratitude. It turns out her daughter has an IEP too, highlighting another characteristic of the special needs mom’s mind: an innate connection to those who understand your struggles. We find each other in stores, online, and in various communities. We are an unspoken tribe bound by similar experiences.
Am I giving enough attention to my other children? I hope so. Are they learning to be compassionate and inclusive? I believe they are. This balance is essential. For every challenge, there are unique gifts that arise from the intertwined thoughts of a special needs mom. Small victories turn monumental because they are hard-won, reminding us to stay hopeful. Beyond loss lies life, a life lived with such intensity that we laugh louder, fight harder, and dig deeper.
If only I could earn points for the mental gymnastics of my brain. Before kids, I often overthought things, but now I see it as a potential superpower driving my busy thoughts.
Paid the tutor (check). Rescheduled the endocrinology appointment (check). Sent a referral for neurology (done). Requested extra work from the teacher (completed). Music lessons (booked). Sewed on the taekwondo badge (oh, the joys of iron-ons). Seven minutes for myself (also known as a shower). Homework (check). Feed the ever-hungry kids (they clearly don’t eat at school). Create invisible lines through an imaginary list. Add “breathe” to the list.
Recently, my husband discovered a 21-year-old who shares our son’s diagnosis. He’s thriving and encourages parents never to give up. I see my husband’s relief; his mind is racing too. The young man shares that due to a late diagnosis, he missed out on early interventions he now wishes he’d had. Suddenly, I feel the urge to reach out to him. Although he seems to be doing fine, I want to check if he needs anything. After all, I’ve immersed myself in all the latest research. My mind is a treasure trove of scientific, environmental, nutritional, and therapeutic knowledge, and at the heart of it, I’m just a mom whose love stretches to the farthest corners of the universe.
Oh, and I should remind my husband about getting a vasectomy soon because I have grand plans to adopt every child with a rare condition. It’s already Wednesday, and we haven’t discussed our reproductive plans yet. My wayward womb has its own agenda, one that ultimately resulted in a remarkable little human destined to make a difference. His smile, the one he freely shares, calms the chaos and offers a remedy for any doubts, reminding us that he can truly change the world.
For more insights and resources on home insemination, check out this informative article. Additionally, this site offers valuable guidance for new moms-to-be, and the CDC provides excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, the life of a special needs mom is a blend of hope, resilience, and love. Through the chaos, we find joy in small victories and a deep connection with others on similar journeys, all while striving to give our children the best possible future.