Change

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A couple months ago, we were driving back from visiting my sister, who lives near a beach. While the kids slept in the backseat, Dan and I talked about how relaxing it felt to be by the water for a few days. For years, we’d been saying that we’d like to move near a beach. But it just seemed so impractical. We had built a life elsewhere. A move would be difficult, especially with three little kids.

Finally, one of us said, “You know what? Let’s just do it.”

But we had said this many times before…and then life happened…and we pushed that dream aside. However, this time seemed different. It felt like we were finally serious. Within a few days of getting home, Dan called a realtor about putting our house on the market, and we started to research houses in a town near the beach.

With the wheels actually in motion, my initial excitement turned into nervousness. I had fears — lots of them! We would have to take the girls out of a school that they love. We would be moving farther away from family. We would have to change doctors and dentists. We would have to leave Emmy’s wonderful music therapist. We would have to work with a new school system to arrange physical, occupational, and speech therapy. Overall, we would be leaving everything that was familiar.

One day, when we were scheduled to meet with our realtor, I broached my fears to Dan. “Is this really a good idea? I feel like I know this area so well. I’m nervous about making such a big change.”

He reassured me that everything would work out. And I realized then that if I always listen to my fearful side, I would never do anything. I would stay put exactly as I am.

I actually had a lot of trepidation about starting this blog a year and a half ago. I knew I wanted my blog to be very personal and honest, so I worried about the reaction that I would get. I worried about “putting my business out there” for everyone to see. And, most importantly, I worried about posting pictures of my children.

I really hemmed and hawed on the pictures issue. Should I just take pictures of the kids from behind? Did I really want to expose their faces? What about the creeps out there? The thing that tipped the scales for me was that Williams syndrome can be a very overwhelming and scary diagnosis. I wanted to show newly diagnosed parents what Emmy looks like — how beautiful and sweet she is. I felt like you might be able to get a more accurate impression of who Emmy is from seeing her face. See how Williams syndrome isn’t as scary as it sounds? 🙂

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So I pushed past all of those fears to start this blog, and I’m happy that I did! I love hearing from people who find my blog. I love showing what Williams syndrome is, and I love writing about how Emmy has changed all of our lives for the better.

I didn’t let fear hold me back with the blog, and I wasn’t going to let it hold me back with the move either.

I emailed a realtor who was familiar with a town that we liked and wrote: “We’d like to move, and we’d like to do it quickly. We have three little kids and the holidays are coming up, so we want to just go for it sooner rather than later. Can you help us?” We lucked out, and she was awesome. Soon, all of the pieces fell into place for both the selling and buying of our old and new houses. With momentum on our side, Dan and I moved at warped speed to move before the holidays.

And we did! We’re in the new house in a brand new town near the beach!

We have floor to ceiling boxes, and we still have a ton of unpacking and rearranging to do. But we’re here!!

I think that our biggest concern this whole time was for Charlotte. We were pulling her out of a Kindergarten that she absolutely loves and transferring her to a bigger school with brand new teachers and friends. My own family moved when I was going into sixth grade, and I have to tell you that I was TRAUMATIZED. The memory of the first day of school still haunts me to this day. I can feel my palms getting sweaty just THINKING about it. Ugh. So we felt terrible about changing Charlotte’s comfortable surroundings.

But on the first day in her new school (this past Monday), a little girl brought in a picture frame that she made over the weekend for Charlotte! I couldn’t believe it. Several other kids brought in cards that said things like: “Charlotte — welcome to our school.” Those kind gestures helped her so very much on what would’ve been a difficult first day. I vowed that when I hear there’s a new kid coming to town, I’m going to encourage my children to make cards for him/her. It was really, really sweet.

So the first full week of school is in the books! Charlotte is starting to make friends and is really enjoying her classes, and Emmy fit in right away. Emmy goes to the preschool program and, if you read about the “Williams syndrome personality,” you’ll see why she’s so friendly and outgoing.

So there we go. Lots of changes! But through all of this, I’ve learned that when I move past fear to take a chance, I will eventually embrace change. 

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Little Reminders

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Everyone tells you not to compare.

If you have a child with special needs, you tend to compare that child’s progress to her siblings. Because as much as people tell you not to compare, you can’t turn your brain to the *off* position. If you could turn your brain off, you’d stop thinking about the Halloween candy in the kitchen. Or you’d stop thinking about the phone call you have to make by Friday. Or you’d stop thinking about the next chapter in your life.

But you can’t just *stop* thinking. Your brain turns and moves, turns and moves–as much as you might want to quiet your thoughts. I’ve actually tried meditation many times, and I’ve gotten decently good at it. But even if I sit down to quiet my thoughts for 20 minutes, only 3 minutes of that will be successful. For the other 17 minutes, my mind is still on overdrive.

So if people tell me not to compare my children, it’s impossible because I can’t just shut down my thoughts.

But I want to explain that comparison isn’t a bad thing!

I used to beat myself up about it. I would think: Hmmm…Emmy’s not rolling over yet. I’m pretty sure Charlotte was rolling over by now.

Or I used to think: Was Charlotte able to cross midline this early? Emmy isn’t doing it yet. (Midline = a term I never thought I would have to learn. Now, I know it well.)

And when people would yell at me to stop comparing, I would criticize myself for doing so. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stop?! Yet, I was unable. So let me rephrase…

I was thinking.

It’s ok to think, right? Everybody does it. And it doesn’t sound as bad as “comparing.”

When I was thinking about Emmy’s progress in relation to Charlotte, I was simply *thinking.* I love, love, love, love, love Emmy dearly. I think she is amazing and smart and funny and gorgeous and sweet. I feel the same about Charlotte and now, Theo. But my kids are different. They do things on different schedules. They have different personalities. They progress differently. It’s not that one who moves more quickly is better. It’s that one who moves more quickly is different.

When people use the term “compare,” it sounds as though one is better than the other. That’s not true. They’re just different.

And I think it’s ok to observe differences. I think parents should give themselves permission to see the ways in which their children are unique.

There is a parent who has twins with Williams syndrome. She commented that she has a hard time not comparing them. Can you even imagine having twins and being told not to compare? Isn’t that the most impossible task in the world? I mean, how do you NOT compare?

But please understand that these comparisons aren’t negative. They’re just thoughts…observations. As human beings, we have thoughts. And, unless we’re going to meditate 24-7, it’s impossible to shut our brains off.

Now, of course, if you notice that your comparisons are turning negative, that’s a different story. “She’s not crossing midline yet” is different from “Why can’t she cross midline yet when her brother did it so perfectly at 1 month old?” Of course, that’s totally different. And, yes, that would be negative.

But most parents I know are proud of even the smallest accomplishment. Their comparisons aren’t negative. Their comparisons don’t affect their LOVE. These are just thoughts…passing thoughts. Love is constant.

So if you have one of those passing thoughts, don’t beat yourself up (as I did for so long). It’s ok to see differences. They’re just little reminders that your children are unique and special in their own ways.

As you can see, my girls dressed very differently for Halloween. Charlotte knew for months that she wanted to be princess Elsa. That’s it–do not pass go. Emmy, on the other hand, isn’t into princesses. She has always been obsessed with monsters. First, our red, furry friend, Elmo. And now, blue Sulley from Monsters Inc.

I love that she loves monsters!! It’s different. It’s cute. It shows a side to her personality–a fun and daring side. She’s rarely afraid. In fact, when Charlotte didn’t want to stick her hand in the “eyeball” soup at Halloween, Emmy dove right in–grabbing prizes for both of them.

Of course I had the passing thought: It’s funny that Emmy is so into monsters, while Charlotte never was.

But it’s just that…a thought.

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I Love to See You Laugh

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We were about to walk out the door on our way to school, when Charlotte asked, “Mom, have you ever laughed?”

I froze.

She wasn’t being sarcastic. She was asking me earnestly if I ever laughed. I thought, Wow my child hasn’t seen me laugh in the 5 years she’s been alive?? Something is wrong here.

Her words resonated in my head throughout the day, as I turned her question over and over in my mind. Was I really walking around in a state of misery 24-7? I certainly didn’t feel that way…

Then I realized what she was asking. She wasn’t asking if I was miserable all of the time. She wasn’t asking about my smiles or my chuckles (many of which I give throughout the day). She was asking about the belly laughs.

Can you picture the belly laugh of a child? It is the cutest thing ever! The first thing you notice is the grinning little white teeth and gums. Then you hear the sound of hearty laughter as they throw their head back. And then they often bend over, clutching their sides.

And what makes them laugh like this?

Usually the word “poop.”

That’s all you have to say to a child: “Poopy poop poop.” And you are gifted with the most incredible belly laugh, one that rings in your ears just thinking about it.

At one point in our lives, that belly laugh was instantaneous. As a child, you could access it at a moment’s notice. But as we get older, that belly laugh is tougher to find. Perhaps the things that once made us laugh aren’t funny anymore. Or perhaps there are fewer things to laugh about.

It was 6 months ago that Charlotte asked me if I’ve ever laughed and, ever since, I’ve tried to let that belly laugh back in. I know she sees my smiles and my chuckles. But I want to show her that I can belly laugh too. I want to show her that I’m having fun with life (even if I’m often stressing about many aspects of it…).

I thought back to my own life and two people I love to see belly laugh — my parents. There’s nothing better than my dad getting red in the face and laughing so hard that he cries. I don’t want my parents to worry or stress. I love to see them happy — to see them truly experiencing lighthearted joy.

Some of the most wonderful belly laughs I’ve ever seen came from my grandmother, who we lost in August. She used to say, “I love to laugh!” And it was true. Even in her 80’s, she allowed herself to go to that silly place. She didn’t constantly mull over the hardships of life and say “Woe is me.” Just the opposite. Even when she had cancer, she laughed and laughed and laughed.

I want to make an earnest effort each day to tap into my belly laugh, especially around the kids. I want them to see their mom having fun with life. I don’t want to teach them that life is difficult and grueling and tough. I want them to see the lighthearted side of things.

And something else… I don’t want my kids to lose their ability to access that genuine belly laugh. But if they see that I’ve lost it, why wouldn’t they just follow in my footsteps?

The tricky part is that it’s hard for me to laugh at “Poopy poop poop” jokes. But we’ve started to move out of that territory a little bit. Emmy now puts things on her head at the dinner table, and there’s something very funny about her saying, “Napkin on my head!”

The good news is that my efforts haven’t gone unnoticed! We were in the car yesterday when Charlotte said something silly from the backseat, and I genuinely belly laughed.

Her response?

“I love to see you laugh.”

The Kindness of Others

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Yesterday, as Emmy was working her way down the steps at school, a parent held out her hand.

“Want some help?”

Emmy gladly accepted the hand, and the two of them walked slowly down the steps together. I don’t know this woman. I’ve seen her around, but we hadn’t officially met until yesterday. Yet she saw that Emmy was a bit slower on the steps, and she was eager to extend a hand.

And when I came to pick up Emmy at school the other day, a little girl saw me and said, “Emmy, your mom is here!” But she didn’t stop there. She put a hand on Emmy’s back and gently guided her through the sea of children. This little girl of about four years old led my daughter to me.

Because my daughter has special needs, I see something that others may not see. I see people who show a level of kindness that goes above and beyond what is expected.

Sure, we all say “hi” to each other as we go about the hustle-and-bustle of our daily lives. We offer a quick smile or a wave. We hold the door for each other. We say “Excuse me” and “Oops. I’m sorry.” We’re in our own little worlds. It’s how we live, and it’s what we’re used to.

But now I also see the people who drop everything to help someone with special needs. When that happens, there’s an incredible kindness that comes through. And there’s a softening. Our crisp, sharp world becomes fuzzy around the edges.

As I stood waiting for Emmy to work her way down the steps holding a woman’s hand…

And as I stood waiting for a little girl to guide her though the crowd…

Time stood still. Everything became softer. 

I wonder about people like this. Where does this kindness come from? Do they have a sibling with special needs? Do they work with people who have special needs? Did their parents teach them to be kind to people with special needs? Or are they just born this way?

Before Emmy was diagnosed, I didn’t have this trait. Of course, I was perfectly pleasant towards people with special needs. It’s not like I was cruel or anything. But I didn’t have the stop-everything-and-help trait. I didn’t know anyone with special needs and, actually, I didn’t think much about it. I was very much in my own little world.

I’d say most people are just like I was. They offer Emmy a quick smile. Or they might look quizzically at her, perhaps thinking, “What’s wrong?” Or they don’t even notice her at all.

But then there are these people who stop EVERYTHING and extend a hand. This woman’s own daughter was at the bottom of the stairs already. She could have easily raced down the stairs, offered me a brisk “Hello,” and marched towards her car — already thinking about what to make for dinner. I wouldn’t have faulted her a bit. It’s what everyone does. Hey, I’m busy too, so I get it!

But, rather, she stopped. And she extended a hand.

When I see the kindness come through in children is when it really gets me choked up. When I see kids holding Emmy’s hand to help her along. Or when I see kids try and pick her up to help put her on a tricycle. Or even when kids stop to say, “Hi Emmy!” Those things make her day. And they make mine too. It makes me feel like we’re going positive places in this world. I applaud the parents who are able to teach this kindness to their children. I think it will make them better people, for sure.

I already see how Charlotte has blossomed because of her sister. She is so kind and so helpful. When she takes Emmy’s hand, that softness happens. Just writing about it, I can actually feel it.

People with special needs deserve this kindness. They don’t deserve hurtful words and teasing. I see how Emmy has completely changed my life. Her incredible spirit has softened me. And she has shown me how to really stop and see these little moments of softness in an otherwise fast-paced world.

The Passing of Time

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I’m so aware of the passing of time right now. Charlotte turned 5 years old  on May 21. Last year, we were celebrating her birthday with my mom and my aunt at home, when I got the call from my husband who was in the hospital with our other little girl–they were going to try and take Emmy off life support in about an hour. She had been on life support for a week and, on Charlotte’s birthday, they were going to see if Emmy’s heart could beat on its own. I was terrified, nervous, and excited. I felt like Emmy had come so far already, and I had confidence that she could pull through. But I was also scared that this wouldn’t go well. Either way, it had to be done. She was starting to bleed from the life support machine.

I gave Charlotte birthday wishes, hugs, and kisses, and hopped in the car. The hospital was about an hour away, so I would hopefully be able to get there just in time. I don’t think my own heart has ever beat as rapidly as it did on that drive. I kept talking to Emmy in my head: “You can do it! Come on, Emmy!”

Right before I crossed the bridge to the hospital, a song came on the radio. It’s called “Keep Your Head Up” by Ben Howard. I’d heard this song a couple times and always liked it, but this time the lyrics affected me differently. I flew over the bridge with the chorus in my ears: “Keep your head up. Keep your heart strong.” I cranked up the volume and, with tears running down my cheeks, sang along: “Keep your head up. Keep your heart strong.” I kept singing louder and louder, willing Emmy to hear me.

I got to the hospital just before she was taken off life support, and it was such a relief when the doctor came to get us in the waiting room. She said Emmy had transitioned off of life support nicely, and her heart was beating on its own!

First we felt joy and relief! Then the exhaustion of the prior week came washing over me. Emmy had gone in for heart surgery on May 16 and, after two cardiac arrests and a crash onto life support, we had been living on pins and needles. We were also trying to make things as “normal” as possible for Charlotte–keeping our promise to celebrate her birthday; trying to devote as much time to her as possible. That day alone, I had made several trips to the hospital. I brought Charlotte in to celebrate with Daddy in the waiting room. Then went back home. Then drove back when Emmy was ready to come off of life support. Dan and I were beyond tired–physically and emotionally–and it would be another few weeks before we were able to bring Emmy home…

And despite all of our hard work last year, Charlotte’s birthday was still kind of a disaster. I think that, emotionally, she is very tuned into us. She could feel that things weren’t right, even though we tried to make the day special. She was a trooper about celebrating her birthday in the hospital’s waiting room, but she also sensed that this wasn’t how birthdays usually go.

This year was much different–thankfully. She had an absolutely awesome birthday, and Emmy was there to celebrate with her.

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Looking at 5 year old Charlotte, I keep thinking of the little baby we met in the hospital in 2009. How quickly it all goes by! It makes me want to freeze time.

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Ironically, during the newborn stage, I wanted time to speed up. We were so tired! We didn’t understand why our baby didn’t sleep. No one told me about that part. Ok, they did, but I apparently didn’t listen. 😉 Now I’d like to go back to that day we met her and learn to take it slow.

I’m constantly caught between focusing on the future and settling into the present. This morning, Emmy was saying funny things at the breakfast table, which is typical for her. She loves to make people laugh. And I found myself thinking, “I can’t WAIT until she’s 10 years old!”

I mean, now the funny things she says are short and sweet: “My birthday too! Need presents! Emmy need presents too!” I can only imagine what a ham she’s going to be as she grows older. But then again…when she’s 10, I’ll be longing to recapture these toddler years.

So here I am at 36 weeks pregnant.

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And on the one hand, I am SO ready! I want to meet this baby, and also I’d like to fast forward through the uncomfortable feelings of the next few weeks (heaviness, lethargy, etc). I’m also nervous about my uterine window holding up and my third C-section. I’ve already been to Labor and Delivery twice over the past few weeks! Once I gave myself an electric shock (by putting my finger in a socket, which was beyond dumb), and the second time I was bleeding (but I’m ok now). So let’s get this show on the road! I’m ready for baby.

Then again…this will probably be my last pregnancy. I really need to try and appreciate these last few weeks. When I let fear and anticipation get the better of me, I live in the future. I want to just end up on the *other* side of everything. I have trouble with the right now.

Sometimes it’s ok to focus on the other side, like imagining Emmy off of life support. That’s an experience that I don’t want to relive.

Other times, it’s better to settle into the present. Time passes whether we appreciate these moments or not. Makes more sense to appreciate them. Hope you enjoy today!

Inseparable

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These two have become inseparable, and that makes me so happy.

The backstory here is that, during my pregnancy with Emmy, I constantly fantasized about the relationship between my daughters. My sister and I are very close, and I could only imagine how strong the bond would be between Charlotte and Emmy. I imagined them just like my sister and me–sharing secrets and giving advice.

My weaknesses are my sister’s strengths. She’s six years younger than I am, but she’s often stepped into the big sister role on my behalf. I used to be painfully shy, and I would be terrified to return anything to a store. When I was fourteen and she was eight, my little sister marched into a music store on my behalf, walked right up to the register, and said, “Hi. I need to return this CD please.” I cowered towards the entrance of the store and peered around the aisles to see how the return was going. She came back triumphant with the money in her hand. I was always amazed at how easy she made it look. In a way, it was embarrassing to rely on my little sister. But I was also glad that I had someone in my life who would stand by me–no matter what.

Now that I’m older (and maybe a little wiser), I feel like I can pay it back. I’m usually able to give her a glimpse of life experiences before she goes down any road. I dated a couple of guys who were really (how can I put this nicely…?) awful. I like to think that she learned from my heartache and, sure enough, she was able to escape all the bad boys and ended up with an amazing boyfriend, who later became her husband. I’ve also been able to give her advice about her career or her life’s purpose. And, even though I’m the big sister, she still gives me tons of advice too. She’s mature–that kid. (She’s almost 30, by the way…)

I feel as though we have an equal give and take, and I value that so much.

And I saw the same for Charlotte and Emmy.

Then we found out about Williams syndrome, and all my visions of replicating the bond that my sister and I have went right down the drain. I just didn’t know anything about Williams syndrome. I didn’t know how Emmy would act or talk or think. It was an enigma. Would she be able to offer her strengths for Charlotte’s weaknesses, as my sister has done for me? Would she be able to give career advice? Would she know how to keep secrets? Would she even want to keep secrets? And how would Charlotte feel towards her little sister?

Early on, I started looking for stories about people who have siblings with special needs. I did find some very sweet stories. But I also found other stories–ones about feeling ignored by parents or resentful and angry. I found one story that really shook me. It was about a boy who was so embarrassed by his sibling with special needs that, instead of standing up for him, he joined the bullies in their taunting. Every day after school, a few bullies and his own brother made fun of this little boy as he walked home. GOOD GRIEF!!! That was hard for me to digest. If your sibling won’t stick up for you, who will?

All of this has been swirling around in my mind since Emmy was born. I’ve talked to my own sister about it several times. On the day we found out Emmy’s diagnosis, I remember sitting on the phone with my sister, crying, and asking, “But do you think they’ll be like us? What if Charlotte needs advice about her job? Will Emmy be able to give it to her?”

And my sister said the most wonderful thing: “Maybe Emmy will able to give the best advice of all. You just have no idea how she’ll see things. Maybe her way of seeing things will be so different from everyone else’s that her advice will be the most helpful.”

That positive spin really, really helped me.

And as the years have passed, this younger-version sisterly bond has grown very tight. When Emmy was a baby, she and Charlotte had the typical baby-toddler relationship. Sure, Emmy was cute, but she wasn’t able to communicate yet and cried…a lot.

The first glimpse of their close bond came when Emmy was in the hospital for heart surgery about a year ago. Every day, for twenty-two days, Charlotte would bring home a drawing from school that said “Emmy” all over it. If you gave her a crayon, she would just write “Emmy Emmy Emmy” over and over. She got a chalkboard for her birthday last year and, sure enough, the first words she wrote were “Emmy Emmy Emmy.” To this day, almost every time she makes a piece of art, she writes “Emmy” at the top. She doesn’t write “Charlotte.” She writes “Emmy.”

And now, as Emmy has become more verbal, they really have fun together. They playfully tease each other with high-pitched voices, they laugh and roll on the floor, they tickle, they share toys, they draw together; they hold hands.

Charlotte loves to be the teacher. “Emmy, look how I brush my teeth. See that? Now, you try it.”

And Charlotte is such a good cheerleader too. “MOMMY! DADDY! You won’t believe what Emmy just did!!” She’s so proud when Emmy hits little milestones, and she really notices those milestones, just as we do.

At almost five years old, Charlotte has started to develop fears (monsters, darkness, bugs). And wouldn’t you know that two-year-old Emmy has become her protector? If Charlotte is afraid to go to sleep at night, I say, “Don’t worry. Emmy is right here. She can protect you from anything.” And that seems to work!

On her end, Emmy just adores her big sister. We were at the hospital the other day, and someone who works there was named Charlotte. Well, every time Emmy heard “Charlotte,” she looked around frantically and asked for her sister.

Also, Emmy is eager to show her big sister any new thing. If she puts on funny sunglasses or finds a sticker or opens a book, the first person she wants to show is Charlotte.

At the dinner table, Dan and I just watch the two of them banter and giggle. There isn’t much eating going on (Charlotte is repulsed by my food most of the time…), but there is a lot of laughter. It will be interesting to see how their dynamic evolves when a little boy arrives in June. Right now, I am so happy with how close they’ve become. It’s better than I even imagined.

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Blogiversary

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Somehow it’s the 1 year anniversary of my blog…which basically means that TIME FLIES! My first post was about green bagels on St. Paddy’s Day  (Green Bagel Morning), which we dutifully ate again this year.

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I’ve really enjoyed blogging over the past year. I’ve loved the connections that I’ve made with people, and this blog REALLY REALLY helped me out when Emmy went into cardiac arrest after heart surgery last May (You can do it, Emmy!!!). I never in a billion years thought that I would be blogging while my daughter was on life support. It seems almost trivial. Blogging while your kid is on life support?? What??  I’m not even that much of a social media person, so it doesn’t seem to fit my character.

But oh-my-gosh, did it help!!! The messages of encouragement kept me going. And the support was incredible. I felt as though we were lifted through that entire experience on the shoulders of others. I didn’t feel like I was going through it alone.

I still get rattled when I look back on my blog posts during that time. It can bring me right back to that hospital room in a split second. It’s surreal to be so far removed from that experience now–physically removed but not mentally… Never mentally.

I have two favorite posts from the past year. I mulled over These Are The Shoes for a LONG time before I wrote it. Every time I opened Emmy’s drawer, those shoes would stare at me. And every time I thought, “I have to write about this feeling to get it out of me.” I’ve mentioned a few times that writing is like therapy for me. When something eats away at me, it’s all I can think about. And then once I get it down on paper, the immediate relief is unbelievable. Seeing those shoes every day really affected me and then, once I wrote about it, I was able to let it go. Amazingly, the shoes don’t bother me anymore.

My other favorite post is In Love. I LOVE that picture of Emmy. She looks like she’s shining from the inside out. That post represents a divide for me. I felt as though I let Williams syndrome come between Emmy and me for a long time. I was very aware of the fact that she has Williams syndrome. I thought about the implications a lot, and it kept me at a distance from her. This was totally unconscious on my part, but it happened nonetheless. We went through hell during her heart surgery and recovery and, while I would never want to go through something like that ever again, it helped me realize that Emmy is my daughter first and foremost. I no longer saw her as “my daughter, but let’s not forget that she has Williams syndrome.” I saw her as my daughter. Period. End of story.

And even though this blog is called Williams Syndrome Smile, my older daughter Charlotte, and husband Dan, (and the new baby soon!) have all played a significant role as well. I think this is more about life in general. Parenting is a minefield, I tell you. Having a child with special needs might color some of my experiences in a different way, but 99% of the time, I’m doing the normal things that every parent does. My #1 goal in life is to not screw up my kids…and yet I can guarantee that I’m already doing something wrong. (And it’s probably the thing that I think I’m actually doing right!! That’s the irony of it all.)

Thank you so much for reading and sharing, everyone!! I’m looking forward to Year #2.

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