My partner and I often find ourselves deep in thought, trying to unravel the complexities of our middle child’s mind. When a rare medical condition is revealed for your six-month-old, it’s like opening a fortune cookie that doesn’t quite make sense. You wish you could see the future, but all you can do is focus on the now — a daunting task, indeed.
Welcome to the chaotic realm of a special needs mom’s brain. It’s a bustling hub with no map, a storage unit overflowing with information that can only be retained for so long before it spills out in chaotic, yet occasionally humorous, ways.
Remember those old PSAs about the dangers of drugs? An egg sizzling in a frying pan illustrated the dangers. If that’s what your brain looks like on drugs, then my brain feels more like a massive omelet stuffed to the brim with all sorts of ingredients: ham, cheese, bell peppers, and maybe even a dash of bacon. People often wonder how I manage to keep it all together. The truth is, like any perfectly cooked omelet, there’s only so much I can handle before I need to take a breather.
Questions race through my mind: Will my child walk? Will he talk? Will he find friends? Will the world be kind? And then there’s the eternal struggle for time and money. Sleep? What’s that? I’m over here contemplating if my email to his fourth-grade teacher is too lengthy, while my inner voice screams “YES!” but I hit send anyway. Breathe.
Sometimes I wonder if I should have pursued a law degree — it would have certainly made the IEP paperwork a breeze. But when would I have found the time? I’m already drowning in grading my college students’ papers while waiting for my son to finish occupational therapy. Speaking of which, I just learned one of my students has made significant progress in overcoming a learning challenge. I wish I could tell his mother how proud I am of him, especially knowing she sacrificed her career to focus on his needs.
It’s illegal to chat with parents about their kids in college, but that doesn’t stop me from imagining that mom pacing the floor at night. Watching her son thrive in my class brings me joy. I try to give a high-five to this invisible mom, but instead, I accidentally honk my horn. No one notices, which is just another day in the life of a special needs mom. There’s a lot of isolation, a lot of emotional ups and downs, and thoughts that sometimes feel too lengthy to share even with those closest to you.
Yet, there’s the grocery store clerk with the kind eyes. She once made the mistake of asking, “How’s your day?” For a special needs mom, that question can lead to a rollercoaster of emotions. On this particular day, I had just come from a triumphant IEP meeting, and I couldn’t help but gush about our advocacy efforts. Thankfully, there was no line behind me as I spilled my heart out, and she listened intently. Turns out, her daughter has an IEP too. It’s moments like these that remind me how special needs moms are drawn together — we find each other in stores, online, and everywhere in between.
Am I giving enough attention to my other kids? I sure hope so. Are they learning compassion? I believe they are. And therein lies the balancing act. For every challenge, there’s a unique gift that emerges from the life of a special needs mom. Small victories are celebrated like grand achievements because they are hard-fought and remind us to stay hopeful. Life is intense, but it also compels you to laugh harder, fight tougher, and dig deeper.
If only I could earn Fitbit points for all the mental gymnastics my brain performs daily! Before kids, I was a chronic overthinker, but now I’m convinced that’s my superpower.
Tutor paid? Check. Doctor’s appointment rescheduled? Check. Referral sent? Done. Homework? Of course. Dinner for the hungry troop? Easy peasy! I make invisible lines through my imaginary checklist, adding “breathe” to the list too.
Recently, my partner shared news of a 21-year-old with the same condition as our son. This young man is thriving, and his website encourages parents to stay hopeful. My partner’s relief was palpable. The young man’s story about missed interventions due to a late diagnosis tugged at my heartstrings. I want to reach out to him, even if he seems perfectly fine. After all, I’ve accumulated a vault of research and insights on this condition, and I’m a mom who believes my heart can grow boundlessly.
Speaking of heart, I need to remind my partner about getting a vasectomy because I plan to adopt every child with a rare condition I can find. It’s already mid-week, and we haven’t had our usual talk about our reproductive plans yet. My body, with its own mind, grew a perfect little human destined to make a difference in the world. His smile calms any storm and reminds me that yes, he can indeed change the world!
If you’re curious to learn more about the journey of home insemination and its intricacies, check out this insightful resource on intracervical insemination and consider the expertise of Make a Mom for the best tools available. For those looking for more information on the success rates, WebMD provides an excellent overview.
In summary, life as a special needs mom is a whirlwind of emotions, challenges, and unexpected joys. We navigate through advocacy, triumphs, and the delicate balance of family life, all while our hearts expand in ways we never thought possible.