For the first 32 years of my life, I was an unapologetic overachiever. Whether it was acing tests, having a flawless driving record, or dominating Candy Crush, I thrived on success. So, as my daughter’s arrival approached, I imagined nurturing a prodigy who’d know her colors by her first birthday and be devouring chapter books by age 4—okay, maybe 5. A little wiggle room never hurt!
In that first year, I eagerly celebrated each milestone, especially when she outperformed the experts’ timelines. She had all her baby teeth by 17 months—clearly destined for greatness! I was already daydreaming about her Nobel Prize as she rolled over, sat up, and took her first steps.
Then came her first birthday, and a playdate with a friend’s son, who was already muttering his way through the alphabet. My competitive instincts kicked in. If he could do it, so could she! But by 15 months, there were still no signs of any alphabetic brilliance. In fact, her vocabulary was non-existent.
At 18 months, her peers were flaunting impressive vocabularies filled with animal names and family members, while my daughter’s attempts at “Momma” came out as a string of “Mamamamama.” Why wasn’t she talking? The doctors reassured me, “She’s just a late bloomer. Many kids don’t start talking until they’re 2.” But I longed for her to wow us at her birthday party with a recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance—no pressure, right?
After her second birthday, we delved deeper into the issue. The words “autism” and “deafness” were thrown around as we consulted an array of specialists. Eventually, we arrived at the diagnosis of apraxia. I had to confront the reality that my daughter wouldn’t be the star of her Sunday school class reciting the alphabet backward. In fact, intelligible words would remain elusive until after her 3rd birthday. It took six full months of speech therapy just for her to grasp the letter “B.”
Apraxia challenged my perfectionist tendencies. It felt like crashing into a brick wall, shattering all my dreams for her. How could I teach her 200 sight words before kindergarten if I couldn’t decipher her sounds? What if she could count to 100, but only communicated in vowels? How would she ever deliver a valedictorian speech?
Now, eight months post-diagnosis, this spirited little girl has taught me to accept that she’s on her own unique timeline. Those accolades I once envisioned may never materialize, and that’s okay. We don’t have a straightforward milestone calendar with apraxia—it’s all one big question mark. And I, being the task-oriented person I am, crave measurable goals to check off. I yearn for someone to assure me when she might “catch up” with her peers, even though I know that might not happen.
But progress is crucial, and I realize her most significant achievement won’t be the day she utters a word with a consonant. In my eyes, she’s already an overachiever. She faces each day with a disability that complicates one of the most fundamental human experiences: communication. Instead of feeling embarrassed, she embraces her situation. She’s aware of her challenges but doesn’t shy away. A social butterfly, she adores singing, loves books, and makes friends wherever she goes.
Her diagnosis has taught me to slow down and savor her journey. I’ve learned to release my expectations and cherish who she truly is. I refuse to waste time longing for the childhood I envisioned for her. Instead, I want to walk alongside her, at her own pace, in her own time.
Navigating through apraxia can be a lengthy journey, but who knows? There may still be a valedictorian speech waiting for her at the end of it.
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