Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A story of a teeny tiny bruise.

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Want to know how exciting my life is as a mom? Read on.

I’m in a dressing room at Change (a bra store here in Canada).

I’ve just tried on a new and different bra after bringing back two I bought last week that 1) one had already broken and 2) kept stabbing me in my side-boob (looks like I wasn’t sized correctly the first time around). So, I’m rocking nothing but a bra and a pair of SWEET tights, and the fitting attendant asks me to do some exercises for “four minutes” (who comes up with these times?) to make sure this bra doesn’t also try to murder me. Sure thing, I say.

She leaves, and I start with some stretches. Stretches soon turn into a full out dance party, and THEN out comes the Sprinkler, ‘cause there aint no dance party until that move hits the floor. However, I underestimate the amount of space in the dress room and proceed to wack my ‘sprinkler’ hand HARD against the mirror. It hurts like shit, I’m screaming inside as there are people on either side of me in their own dressing rooms wondering what the fresh hell it is that I’m doing, and I proceed to spend the next three minutes quietly sitting down and assuring myself that this bra will do just fine.

Thankfully, it’s had no issues yet.

AND THAT IS MY STORY OF A TEENY TINY BRUISE.

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Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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Email I just sent to O’s childcare…

“I just wanted to say thank you. When I arrived yesterday, I got out of the car and immediately heard something unexpected. My son’s name was loudly being chanted, “O! O! O! O!”. As I walked closer and through the parking lot, I realized both classes were in the front and nealy everyone was cheering for O as he used his walker. Having never seen him use it (as he’s refused here at home), and seeing all the children cheer him on, I immeiately started crying. It was such a huge and special moment for me. I then came into the gate, got down on my knees, and had my son walk to me (in his walker) for the first time ever. He was so proud, and so happy, and I was so very overjoyed for him. As I hugged him through my tears, one of the 3-5s asked a friend why I was crying, and I believe it was L that answered, “Because she’s happy!”.

And she’s right.

I was profoundly happy, and seeing that moment had just made my week, month and whole year.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

*sobs*

💚⁣ ⁣

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Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood

My heart soars.

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O’s childcare is slowly getting him used to being in the 3-5 room, as he will be moving to it in September (he will be getting a support worker to help him once he gets there, thankfully).

His impending move has slowly meant spending time with children significantly older than him. They all walk, run and are quite tall. Especially when you are stuck in the third percentile and essentially sitting nearly everywhere you go (with scooting being his main form of transportation). Sometimes, it can be scary when the world and everyone in it towers over you.

But, and this is what brings me to feel an overflowing abundance of joy, the 3-5s have started to notice this. In ways of empathy, acceptance and brilliance, they have realized that he needs people on his level. So, yesterday, they began to scoot with him. They sat on the ground with him. They played with him. All in ways where they could equally reach, interact and socially engage.

My heart aches at times to see O’s differences and the special rights that he needs. At times like these, however, it soars.

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Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

THIS.

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Trust him.

Respect him. ⁣
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Observe him. ⁣
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Listen to him. ⁣
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Ceremoniously slow. ⁣
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Wait. ⁣
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Breathe. ⁣
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Soften. ⁣
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He’s not giving you a hard time, he’s having a hard time. ⁣
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We are on the same team. ⁣
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Don’t react, respond. ⁣
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He’s only little once. ⁣
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Remember how old he is. ⁣
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Do with, as opposed to do to. ⁣
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You are here to help, not make it worse. ⁣
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You do have time for this. ⁣
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This is what matters. ⁣
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Set limits early. ⁣
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When you know better, you can do better. ⁣
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This is an opportunity to connect. ⁣
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What need is he communicating?⁣
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Where is he coming from?⁣
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Talk aloud what’s happened.⁣
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This is not an emergency. ⁣
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I am where I need to be. ⁣
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This is age appropriate. ⁣
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Treat him how you’d like to be treated. ⁣
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Share your calm, don’t join the chaos. ⁣
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Acknowledge the inner delight. ⁣
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See the effort, voice the effort. ⁣
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Be consistent. ⁣
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It’s not personal. ⁣
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I am here. ⁣
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I hear you. ⁣
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Your words today will become his inner voice tomorrow. ⁣
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He’s doing his best. ⁣
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Hours are long, but the years are short. ⁣
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It’s harder for him than it is for me. ⁣
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Let feelings be, they don’t belong to me. ⁣
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Be who you want him to be.

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Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood

Different by a lot.

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Raising a child with a significant gross motor delay is different than a raising a child who develops typically. At times, it’s different by a lot.

For instance, what did we do this weekend? We finally reached the point we needed to lower O’s crib from the newborn position as he’s gotten pretty good at coming to a stand (hurray!). His mobile finally had to come down, too. He turned 2 at the end of November.

I want to reach out and bring O to play dates and such, but he just can’t do a lot of stuff other kids his age can. And a trip to the park for him? It looks *dramatically* different than a trip for a typical developing child of his age.

At times, it’s isolating. I want moms to bond with over our kids shared triumphs. But for so much of the big stuff that’s happening to him right now? The mom’s with kids his age went though it a year and a half ago. It’s old news.

Every day in every way I’m celebrating him. He amazes me. But, I’m also worrying, wanting and aching for him. I don’t know if he knows if he is different or not (how can he not when all the children around him at childcare walk?). In a few years I don’t know if that difference will still be there or not.

But right now, I just want him to be happy. To find his people. To fit in. And it feels like the cards are stacked a bit too much against him at such an early age. I hate that I can’t change that. I realize some of this is my worried mom perception, yes. But it’s the part of it that’s not that keeps me awake at night.

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