Tag Archives: Empathy

Doing All Of The Things

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Our babysitter was telling me about how she was excited to see a friend that she hadn’t seen in a while. The friend said, “Can we do all of the things?” And our babysitter replied, “Yes, we will most definitely do all of the things!”

Every time I think of this expression, it makes me laugh. I guess it’s a new expression that means “doing everything we love to do”?? I guess??

Sometimes I’m tempted to use it in conversation, but then I think people would accuse me of trying to be younger than my years…

But I do think of this in terms of Emmy. I want her to do all of the things.

I want her to play sports, go to dance class, take an art class, participate in the various clubs at school…

She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t WANT to do. But I want her to have the opportunities that any typical child has.

Some experiences have been easier than others. We have a gymnastics studio near us, and the teachers have been awesome with Emmy. She takes classes with her peers, but the teachers will modify a little bit for her. One student might walk across the balance beam on her own, while Emmy will get a little support from the teacher. One student might do a cartwheel flawlessly on her own, while the teacher might hold Emmy while she practices her cartwheel. But she does everything that everyone else does, and the teachers have been very happy to accomodate for Emmy’s needs. I didn’t even have to ask them. They just did it.

On the other hand, we have had a doozy of a time with dance. I enrolled Emmy in ballet classes at a very strict studio. It wouldn’t have been my preference, but Charlotte really liked the studio at first, and she wanted to go there. I’m a big proponent of having Emmy try everything that Charlotte does. So I signed Emmy up for the class, but I also told them that she has Williams syndrome because I knew that the standards of the studio are more strict than others. For example, a student would have to pass a “dance test” before moving to the next level.

The receptionist gave me the side-eye and said, “We can put her in our youngest class…We’ll start her there…That’s as young as we go…”

This was one of those situations that made me very uncomfortable. I could feel the judgment. I knew that the kids would be younger than Emmy. But I also felt that this person wasn’t keen to have her in the dance school — period — and this was a way to get her in. After all, the aim of this school is to build up dancers in a very strict, professional atmosphere. If Emmy couldn’t perform the steps, how would the teacher react?

But, on the other hand, Charlotte took a practice class, and the teacher was great. I really wavered back and forth on this, but I signed Emmy up nonetheless and put her in the youngest class.

The interaction with the receptionist made me feel “less than.” It made me feel as though I had to apologize for intruding on the professional atmosphere of the school. It made me feel as though I had to make excuses for my child who was born as she was — through no fault of her own.

I should have known *at that moment* that this wasn’t the right place for us. But, you see, I want Emmy to do all of the things! I want her to wear her little ballet outfit with her hair up in a bun. Mostly, I want her to have the exact same opportunities that Charlotte does. If Charlotte is accepted into the class as a typical child, I want Emmy to be accepted as well.

Here’s the irony. The class ended up being a disaster but not for the reason I imagined. It wasn’t because Emmy couldn’t keep up with the steps. In fact, because the kids were younger than Emmy, they were totally out of control! They didn’t follow directions. They cried during the whole class and ran out of the room constantly. I don’t blame them one bit. They were quite young! But that wasn’t the class for Emmy. Just because Emmy has some challenges doesn’t mean that she should immediately be placed with younger children. It was really illuminating! Emmy surpassed these kids in maturity. I asked the teacher to move Emmy to the next level, and she declined. She said Emmy was placed correctly. I kindly disagreed.

This is a dance school that many people praise, but we ended up leaving. It just wasn’t a good fit.

That interaction soured me to dance for a while, but it was something that continued to eat away at me because Emmy loves to dance. I didn’t want to deny her the experience of a dance class just because of this one situation.

After a few months, I decided that we should try a free practice class at another dance studio near here. It’s a very popular studio, but I’ve heard that it isn’t as strict as the first.

Everyone seemed very nice — the owner, the receptionist…we were off to a good start! This time, I didn’t tell them that Emmy has Williams syndrome. I didn’t want them to put her in the younger class again. I couldn’t risk another experience like the previous one.

This class was for five to seven year olds, so both Emmy (at age 5) and Charlotte (at age 7) would be in the same class. It’s an “acro” class, so it’s like “acrobatic dance.” Charlotte would look out for her sister. This seemed like a good set-up.

I dropped the girls off in the class and was lead to an area where I could watch them. As the minutes passed, I almost cried. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see how the teachers were treating Emmy. When she couldn’t get into a straddle perfectly, they stood over her and admonished her. When Emmy did a bridge (which is really hard for someone with Williams syndrome!! Really, really hard!!), I could tell that they weren’t impressed. They weren’t kind. I walked back in the class, picked up Emmy, and carried her out of the room. The teachers saw me and completely ignored me. Charlotte came running over and said, “This isn’t going well.” I asked her if she wanted to leave, but she said she would finish out the class. I watched the rest of the class while holding Emmy in my arms. I was fuming.

After it was over, the teachers walked out of the room and looked at me with disgust. They didn’t say anything to me and just marched by.

“What happened in there??” I asked Charlotte.

She was rattled. “Mom, they were so mean to Emmy. She did that bridge, and it was AMAZING! Emmy said, ‘Am I doing a good job, teacher?’ and the teacher said, ‘No.’ Can you believe that? I WAS SO PROUD OF HER!”

She continued. “I could hear the teachers talking about Emmy. They said, ‘What’s wrong with her?’ And ‘I thought she was supposed to be five years old?'”

Charlotte was very upset. My seven year old knew this wasn’t right.

I was appalled by the way they treated Emmy, and of course we didn’t go back. Friends told me to contact the owner and express my disapproval. I haven’t done that. In the past few weeks, I’ve heard similar things about this studio, so it makes me feel as if this is the atmosphere, and I don’t know that things will change if I speak up. But maybe they will. I don’t know. The whole experience really upset me, and I kind of just want to move past it.

But I want Emmy to do all of the things! Just because other people don’t know what class she fits in or don’t understand her challenges doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t have the opportunity to do all of the things, right? The Americans with Disabilities Act is something with which I have become very familiar. It protects my daughter. She should be able to experience everything that everyone else does. However, the Americans with Disabilities Act doesn’t change people’s reaction to her. While she may be able to DO all of the things, she may not be viewed in the same light  — or with the same promise — as the other students. That part is rough.

You know what? Third time’s a charm.

A mom told me about yet ANOTHER dance studio that just opened. The owner, she said, is fabulous — very kind and understanding. I pushed my misgivings aside and only saw hope. I emailed the owner and explained our situation. I told her about Williams syndrome, and I also told her briefly about our past two experiences. I told her that I don’t want Emmy to be automatically put with the younger kids, but I also don’t want her to be admonished for not doing the steps properly when she ALWAYS, ALWAYS tries her best. I asked if we could figure out a class that might be right for Emmy.

She called me right away. She told me that my email broke her heart and that she would absolutely find the right class for her. She did, and Emmy loves it. It’s another “acro” class. She is with her typical peers that are her age, and the teacher helps her when necessary. She gets some modifications. When she has trouble with a big cartwheel, she tries a small cartwheel. And her bridge has only gotten stronger and more beautiful. The teacher consistently praises her effort. It is a wonderful experience. They have made us feel welcome and included.

I don’t know why every place isn’t like this. It took us three chances to find a place that would accept us as we are. It’s not that I’m being difficult or that I’m expecting special treatment. I just want Emmy to be able to do all of the things that everyone else does. I think that’s reasonable. In fact, I know it is.

Here We Go

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I’ve been wanting to post about this for a while, but I’m so stinking depressed about it that it’s hard to find the words. I also have been trying, unsuccessfully, to put it out of my mind and not obsess. (But I’ve been obsessing.)

It looks like Theo will have to go to the hospital for a bronchoscopy on November 10. When Theo was about 5 months old, I noticed a wheezing sound when he breathes. At the time, it was diagnosed as laryngomalacia, which is basically a floppy larynx and no big deal. It happens to some kids and, as they get older, the problem resolves itself. Sure enough, when Theo was about 8 months old, it seemed to go away. I didn’t hear the wheezing anymore, and the doctor confirmed that it had resolved.

Then this past August, when he was 14 months old, he developed a much different sound when he breathes. It’s quite loud, and it sounds like he has mucus in his throat — like a gurgling or purring. At first, we weren’t worried. We figured it was a cold. Then it didn’t go away. And it got louder. We’ve seen several Ear, Nose, and Throat doctors. We treated him for allergies (both seasonal and food), asthma, and reflux. None of those treatments had any impact on the sound. Plus, one of the treatments involved medicine that seemed to make everything worse. He had so much mucus and saliva in his mouth that he couldn’t even swallow.

So here we are. Theo is 16 months old, and the sound is as loud as ever. Furthermore, he has started occasionally choking on his food and, when he coughs, it sounds as though he’s fighting a lot of mucus. (Although this mucus has never come up.) But the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor confirmed it was there by looking down his throat.

Well, now the ENT has to look further to get to the root of the problem, and the only way he can do that is through a bronchoscopy, which means we have to take Theo to the hospital and put him to sleep with anesthesia. Which reminds me of the last time we put one of our children to sleep with anesthesia, and all hell broke loose. (I can’t even bear to go back and look at the posts right now to link to them. But, in May 2013, Emmy had heart surgery and went into cardiac arrest afterwards.)

I’ve been trying to avoid the bronchoscopy. I’ve been trying so hard to solve this problem without any invasive procedures. But it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. My amateurish investigative work isn’t getting us anywhere.

The two prevailing theories right now are that (1) Theo might have scarring in his throat or a narrowing in his airway from when he was intubated in the NICU (2) Theo may have a congenital anomaly called a “vascular ring.” Both are pretty hardcore.

Keep in mind that Theo seems fine. He’s growing nicely. He’s talking and laughing and dancing and having fun. He has all the energy in the world, and he actually doesn’t seem at all bothered by this throat issue. Even when he chokes or coughs, he just keeps going. (The rest of us practically have a heart attack every time…)

So what can I say? It stinks. I’m trying my darndest to be positive. But it stinks. And I’m super bummed that we have to go down this road. I just want everything to be all sunshine and roses all the time, you know?? Especially when it comes to my kids.

Well, our pre-op appointment is on November 3.

So here we go…

Why Words Matter

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I don’t read baby books anymore. With Charlotte, my first born, I read them diligently. I wanted to know when she would be rolling over, standing, and saying her first words. I didn’t really worry about her meeting those milestones, but I wanted to know what was in store for us. When we found out that Emmy has special needs and then when she started missing her milestones, I couldn’t bear to read the books because they served as constant reminders of the things she wasn’t doing yet.

And, often, it wasn’t so much what they were saying as how they were saying it. I would see gentle reminders that some babies just develop later than others, accompanied by words like “Your baby may be normal!” There were reassurances that even if your baby wasn’t meeting milestones, things would most likely be ok. There were broad ranges for milestones and, as long as your baby fell into those ranges, everything would be fine.

But what if your baby didn’t fall into those ranges?

Then I would see words like “Talk to your pediatrician” or “Contact a doctor.”

So everything seemed happy and cheery when your kid was meeting milestones but, if not, you knew that there was bad news lurking around the corner.

There were two camps. The children that were developing “normally” (this word is used all the time) and the children that weren’t. If you were in the first group, the implication was that things were going swimmingly well! But if you fell into the second group, it sounded like things in your life were about to get pretty miserable.

But I have to say that even though Emmy didn’t meet all of her milestones, our life is far from miserable! She is an absolute joy to be around — milestones be damned. No, she didn’t fall into the “normal” (I hate that word) charts, but she has enriched our lives beyond belief. I could gush about her all day but, to sum it up in a word, she’s awesome.

So now I have an almost-10 month old baby, Theo, and I haven’t opened a baby book.

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After years of physical therapy sessions with Emmy, I know a lot about how children develop — more than I ever dreamed I would know. So I have many of the milestones filed away in my mind and, while I don’t obsess over them, I am aware of them. Theo is on schedule, but I still ended up breaking my rule and did a Google search to find out whether standing comes before or after crawling. And that lead me to a page about walking. And here is what I found:

“Most babies take their first steps sometime between 9 and 12 months and are walking well by the time they’re 14 or 15 months old. Don’t worry if your child takes a little longer, though. Some perfectly normal children don’t walk until they’re 16 or 17 months old.” (Baby Center)

“Some perfectly normal children…”

Isn’t it funny that I haven’t looked in a baby book FOREVER — for this reason alone — and then, on my first search about milestones, these are the words I find?

Why are we calling children “perfectly normal”? And for that matter, what about the children who aren’t deemed “perfectly normal”? What about them?

And then, on the next page, the inevitable dismal line:

“Don’t fret if your child is simply taking her time. But if your child doesn’t stand with support at 12 months, can’t walk at 18 months, or isn’t able to walk steadily at the age of 2 years, bring it up with her doctor.” (Baby Center)

Can’t you just hear the threatening music? So now we know that if things don’t happen by a certain timetable, something scary may be lurking around the corner…

Well, what was lurking around our corner was Williams syndrome! And it hasn’t been bad at all! Her beautiful smile is a Williams syndrome smile, and it lights up our lives every day.

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But, beyond all of that, let’s revisit the words “perfectly normal,” and let’s look at them in terms of a child who is typical.

The first word, “perfect,” is a heavy word. We throw it around a lot, but it is heavy. When you strive for perfection, you will always fail — every, single time. Nobody is perfect. Perfectionists always feel like they’re doing something wrong because, until they’re *absolutely perfect*, nothing is ever right. And because they can never achieve the status of *absolutely perfect*, they end up constantly unsatisfied. So a perfectionist, like myself, is often caught in a trap of inevitable failure. Cheerful, huh? 🙂

Perfectionism can be debilitating. It stops you from doing tasks. If I don’t have time to arrange everything on a shelf perfectly, I won’t even put one thing on the shelf. I had to ask my husband to unpack my boxes (we just moved) and put things on the shelves anywhere he wanted because my desire to have things just so was getting in my own way.

I REALLY try not to use the word “perfect” — especially around kids. However, it’s a word that often pops into my mind. If Charlotte carefully writes her name at the top of her paper, it certainly looks perfect to me! But I don’t want to put that on her. So I choose another word. Or if Emmy puts on her socks the right way, it certainly looks perfect to me! But, again, I pick another word.

And after the word, “perfect,” we have another favorite of mine — “normal.” Someone once said that “normal is a setting on the washing machine.”

What’s the opposite of normal? It’s abnormal. Do we really want to call a child abnormal?

I like to use the word “typical.” As in, “typically children develop like this.” But if they don’t, that’s totally ok too. Everyone is different. That’s what makes life interesting.

I feel like there’s a lot of fear around milestones. You’re either developing “perfectly normally,” or all hell is breaking loose. There’s no grey area. I want to share that, in our case, things went as far from “perfectly normal” as you can get. We are all the way at the other end of “perfectly normal.” But I want to let you know that things over here are pretty great too! In fact, they’re magnificent. 🙂

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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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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.

Party of Five

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We’re going to have a Party of Five in June! I’m excited, nervous, happy, and hungry.

I’m trying to be calm and zen during this pregnancy, and I feel like I’m doing a pretty good job so far. My pregnancies with both Charlotte and Emmy were roller coaster rides, so I’m doing my darnedest to take everything down a notch this time.

You know how, when you’re young, pregnancy seems like the easiest thing in the world? Here’s how I imagined it at first: You get pregnant. You glow. You eat a lot. You pat your growing belly and smile. You decorate the nursery. You go into labor. You deal with some pain at this point, but you’re immediately given your beautiful baby as a reward. And your life becomes perfect.

(I thought that not only was pregnancy easy, but that parenting was easy too. HAHAHA. I guess I’m an idealist…or naive. Probably naive.)

But, as life has gone along, I’ve seen all different sides of pregnancy. There are the glowingly perfect pregnancies, and I am thrilled for them…while also being slightly jealous. It sounds like most celebrities have perfect pregnancies, but maybe they’re only giving us one side to the story. I’ve also become very close with people who have tragically lost babies, who have had trouble getting pregnant, who have had very challenging pregnancies, and who have found out that their babies needed to have surgery right after mom gave birth.

I also have a very cool friend who delivered her baby BY HERSELF IN HER LIVINGROOM because the baby arrived so quickly. My friend wrapped her baby in her jeans and waited for the ambulance to arrive. This happened in 2012, not in 1970 or something. I will forever be impressed by this woman.

I didn’t expect any of these stories, though. I had one vision of pregnancy, and I thought everyone fell into that category–except maybe .1% of people.

I think it’s important to be sensitive to other people’s stories. I’ve learned this both in pregnancy and in having a daughter with special needs. I’m really drawn to people who are humble. It means a lot to me when someone says, “I haven’t experienced what you’ve gone through…but I get it.” If I had a magic wand, I would get rid of all the gloating in the world. I don’t think it gets us anywhere. I met a mom at a playground once who was trying to one-up me on all the things Charlotte wasn’t doing but that her daughter was doing. Yikes, does that rub me the wrong way! It’s not about putting your story in a better light. It’s about understanding that all of our stories are unique and important. We can learn a lot from others, and I feel so much love for the people in my life who have gone through so much.

So here’s my story: I found out that I had a bicornuate (“heart-shaped”) uterus shortly before I got pregnant with Charlotte in 2008. This sounded like the worst news ever, and I was beyond devastated. I’ve come to find out that it’s not as awful as it sounds. My uterus didn’t form completely when I was born, which is really bizarre because that means I have a birth defect that I didn’t even know about until I set out to have kids! My uterus stopped short of the upside down triangle and, instead, formed into a heart. I know the heart sounds lovely, and so many of my friends tried to put a positive spin on it. But I was REALLY mad at my uterus for a while. I felt like it deceived me.

Of course, I immediately Googled “bicornuate uterus” and devoured all the horror stories. (I’m good at that. I tend to skim over the good stories to get to the real doozies.) The biggest problem is that I could go into pre-term labor.

So for my entire pregnancy with Charlotte, I was a mess. I let my mind go to all the bad places it could go, and I white-knucked the entire pregnancy. Because of the bicornuate uterus, I’m considered “high risk” so I also had a lot of doctors’ appointments and ultrasounds, which just made me more nervous.

You get the picture. I suffered mentally for 9 months. PHYSICALLY, I was doing pretty well! I had some minor issues that had nothing to do with my bicornuate uterus and were all resolved (like the time I fell flat on my stomach at 9 months pregnant…). But I wasn’t listening to my body. My body was doing great, and my mind was a mess. The two things were completely out of sync. It’s funny how my mind can take a life all on its own with zero regard to what is ACTUALLY going on with my body.

All the bad things I had read about through my endless Google searches never happened. Charlotte was born via C-section at 39 weeks, and she was happy as a clam! Such a good baby.

Ok, so you would think that my lesson would be: Don’t let your mind run away without you. Listen to your body. Do things differently next time. CALM DOWN.

Here we go again. I got pregnant with Emmy in 2010, and I started to follow my own advice. Caaaaaalm down. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fiiiiiine.

I was doing awesome until 7 weeks along, when I had heavy bleeding–the likes of which you would not believe. My mind immediately went back to panic mode. We had an ultrasound that showed Emmy was fine, but I was a nervous wreck for the rest of the pregnancy. I couldn’t get back to that zen place again. Also, Emmy was always measuring small. We’ve come to find out that this is pretty common for Williams syndrome, but we had no idea that she had Williams syndrome until 5 weeks after she was born. So the fact that she kept measuring small seemed odd to me and, again, made me nervous. I was still considered high risk and had all the doctors’ appointments and ultrasounds that you can imagine, which heightened my nerves even more.

But, again, for the majority of my pregnancy, I was fine physically. It was the mental aspect that took a toll on me–again! Even though I swore it wouldn’t.

Emmy was born via C-section at 39 weeks. She had a lot of problems right out of the gate and had to go to the NICU–and then of course we got the diagnosis of Williams syndrome a few weeks later. But we didn’t know about any of this during pregnancy, and I could’ve saved myself a lot of stress while I was pregnant if I just focused on how my body was feeling instead of paying attention to my over-active, always-working mind.

So here we are with Baby #3–a boy! And I have a whole HOST of problems. But I think I have finally learned my lesson. I refuse to let my mind get away from me this time.

The first problem is that I have a thin window on my uterus. Basically, this means that part of my uterus has been deemed “paper thin” and, if I were to go into labor, my uterus could rupture. My second problem is that, because of our history with Emmy, we have to do more in-depth ultrasounds to make sure that there are no heart issues. No one thinks this baby has Williams syndrome (though it would be pretty amazing, considering it’s a 1 in 10,000 completely random event). We’re no more likely to have another baby with WS than any couple would be to have a first baby with WS. But when one of your babies has a genetic issue, they do want to look closely to make there there is nothing else that we need to be aware of. (For instance, if the baby had a Congenital Heart Defect, which is a 1 in 100 statistic, we would have to schedule surgery for after the birth etc.) My third problem is that I’m technically still at risk for pre-term labor because of my bicornuate uterus, so I have to get checked more often than your average patient. And, fourth, this baby has a kidney issue, which is apparently common in boys and nothing to worry about–unless it’s something to worry about…and we won’t know that until we get further along.

Given my history, you’d think I would be freaking out, particularly about the kidney issue. But here’s what I’m doing this time. I’m staying grounded. I’m NOT Googling. I absolutely refuse to Google. I won’t go searching for all the horror stories like in the past.

Sure, I have my moments of worry and panic, but I’m able to bring myself back down again.

How am I getting there? Well, I’m listening to my body. I feel…fat. 🙂 But good and happy and comfortable and calm. I’m looking forward to spring. I’m thinking of all the things I want to do with my girls to enjoy the last memories of the Party of Four. I love seeing Charlotte and Emmy together. Their sisterly bond has gotten so much tighter. It makes me SO happy.

I want to capture this moment of zen and carry it through to the delivery in June. I want to trust my body, which has proven itself before. I want my body and my mind to be in sync throughout this pregnancy. I want to enjoy and remember many moments throughout this pregnancy. And, this time, I want to savor that pregnancy glow.

Don’t Apologize to Me

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Dontapologizetome

I was in a store the other day, just browsing and in my own little world (as I usually am). Every few minutes, a loud, deep voice would burst into my reverie. I kept trying to ignore the intrusion but, finally, I glanced up to see a teenage boy (probably about 17 years old) who was making throaty noises. He was trying to get his mom’s attention. He would shout a word or two and then make some more guttural noises. He would sporadically run down the aisle and then back again. My first thought was that he was just being a rowdy teenage boy, and my second thought was that he had special needs.

I glanced up at his mom who was in her fifties and looked tired. She had a very loving nature with her son. She answered his requests with patience and kindness. But she was also very aware of their surroundings. She kept gently saying, “Shush” and “Not so loud” and “Please be quiet.” I imagined that, at home, she couldn’t care less if he makes loud noises. But here, in a public place, I could sense her discomfort. She might have been worried that someone might give her dirty looks for not “controlling” her son. She might have even been scolded by complete strangers in the past.

The mom looked at me in an apologetic way. She wanted to let me know that she was sorry for all the noise.

And I really felt for her. I’ve changed so much since having Emmy. My level of empathy has increased immensely. I could put myself right into this woman’s shoes and feel the hot stares from strangers. True, I haven’t been through her exact experience. Emmy is still at the age where any acting out would be considered typical behavior for a toddler. (And she’s actually pretty mellow so far. When in public, she enjoys just looking at everyone.)

But now I understand that everything isn’t what it seems. Everyone comes from different circumstances, and we never know what another family might be facing. One person might see a mother’s inability to control her child, while another might see a mother’s steady patience with her son who has special needs. Frankly, I wanted to hug her and tell her that she certainly didn’t need to apologize to me.

But, because I’m shy and definitely not one to intrude on personal space, I just smiled timidly and offered to help her find what she was looking for on the shelves.