A Story About Sisters

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Charlotte wrote a “How To” story in school. The topic she chose was “How to Help Your Sister.” For her dedication in the beginning, she wrote, “I dedicate this book to Mommy because my Mommy taught me how to help my sister.” She wrote about helping her sister down the stairs, helping her get dressed, and helping her brush her hair.

My first thought was: This is the sweetest thing I have ever seen in the history of the world!

My second thought was: Have I put too much of a burden on Charlotte?

I felt the #1 Mom feeling, which is guilt. Am I not doing this right? My original intent was that I didn’t want Charlotte to feel like she always has to help Emmy because I didn’t want her to resent her sister later in life. (Though someone commented on my blog once that she, as an adult, loves helping her sister with Williams syndrome and that she would do anything for her.)

I just don’t want Charlotte to look back on her life and say, “You know, my mom really screwed things up because she made me help my sister too much, and now I have the following issues…”

But then I thought…

Wait a minute. I helped my own sister! I was always looking out for her. I’m sure my sister felt like she had 3 parents because I was always putting my nose into everything. I remember being in a grocery store with my mom and my sister and, while my mom put in her order at the deli counter, I would chase my sister around the grocery store and call back over my shoulder, “You need to watch her!!” Of course, my mom had an eye on her the whole time, but she found it hilarious that I played the role of guardian (while chastising her for it…).

My sister and I recently found some old videotapes of my 13th birthday party, and we had so much fun laughing at ourselves. The grainy footage showed the party in my house with music blasting. Our living room was crowded with friends and even a boy that I liked. But while I was surrounded by people my own age, I danced with my 7 year old sister for hours. There we were in the middle of the circle–spinning around and laughing. We both commented on it. “Wow, I basically ignored everyone else and spent the party with you!”

Growing up, I included my sister in everything. “This is my little sister!” I would call out to anyone who would listen. I always had a protective arm around her, and I loved doling out advice. When I finally got my driver’s license, we continued to spend all of our free time together–out and about. And when I got to college, I brought my little sister to parties and watched her like a hawk (reminiscent of days in the grocery store as kids).

I don’t remember if I helped her down stairs or if I brushed her hair, like Charlotte does with Emmy. But I know that I’ve helped my sister in other ways–just as she has helped me. It’s always been a give and take. (My little sister has even called a boy on my behalf, to ask him to a dance. I was 15 and she was 9. At the time, my shyness was beyond embarrassing. Now, I can laugh about it.)

With Charlotte and Emmy, I see that give and take. Some of Emmy’s greatest strengths come from her reliable company. If Charlotte needs a hug, Emmy is right there. When Charlotte needs a laugh, Emmy is happy to provide it. When we moved to a new town a few months ago and didn’t know anybody, Emmy stepped into the role of “steadfast companion” to Charlotte. They spent all of their free time together.

The other day, I found one of Emmy’s books in Charlotte’s room. I asked, “Did Emmy leave this here?” and Charlotte responded by filling me in on their morning routine.

Every morning, Emmy wakes up first. She grabs a book from her nightstand and walks over to Charlotte’s room. She knocks softly on the door and enters. Charlotte is still in bed–sometimes sleeping. The two girls don’t say a word. Emmy sits on the floor of Charlotte’s room with her book and leafs through it, waiting for her sister to get out of bed.

I said, “You guys don’t talk at all?”

Charlotte replied, “No. She just likes to be in here with me.”

Their bond is strong. There’s a give and take. For now, I think it’s equal. What role Charlotte will take on in the future remains to be seen. I don’t want her to feel burdened, and I don’t want her to resent her sister. But for everything I’ve done for my sister and for all the times I’ve been there for her, I feel zero burden or resentment. Yes, the circumstances are different. But from what I see in Charlotte and Emmy, that special bond is exactly the same.

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The Time That I Freaked Out

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It’s very bizarre to fill out medical paperwork on behalf of Emmy. Since we moved a couple months ago, we’ve entered a new school system, and we’ve had to find new doctors and dentists. We’ve also signed up for extracurricular activities, like gymnastics. This all comes with a lot of paperwork…and a lot of questions.

First, the questions ask for me to go through her health history. Gosh, this is still tough for me. I have trouble rehashing her heart surgery in 2013 followed by 2 cardiac arrests and a week on life support. She also has a lasting problem from that event, which makes me sad to think about. And then, of course, there’s the fact that she has a genetic condition. And, while I’ve completely accepted and embraced the fact that she has Williams syndrome, sometimes just thinking about that first year can bring back memories of complete uncertainty, confusion, stress, and exhaustion. Trying to grasp what Williams syndrome meant for our child along with setting up doctors’ appointments alongside Early Intervention services was just EXHAUSTING.

Next, after filling out her health history, I’ll no doubt see the following question which is phrased in many ways but most commonly: “Is your child healthy?”

I don’t even know how to answer this question. I mean, yes, Emmy has both Williams syndrome and a lasting issue from her cardiac arrests. But she certainly SEEMS healthy. She smiles a lot, runs around all day, expresses her MANY opinions loudly, and pushes herself in everything she does.

I don’t even know how to define “healthy” when it comes to Emmy. On a day to day basis, she seems healthy to me, even after everything we’ve been through.

Then we’ll have moments that will make me positively freak out.

A few days ago, Emmy ate some mango (her favorite food). Then a couple hours later, she said, “Mommy, I need some help.” I looked over, and she was practically green. She then threw up twice.

And I got nervous. I’ll tell you why… When we were in the hospital after her heart surgery, one of the nurses told me that when something is wrong with the heart, it often presents itself in the stomach first. So vomiting could be a sign of a heart problem.

I tried to put that thought out of my mind and deal with Emmy’s situation as if it were just a stomach bug. I did all the usual things that I do with stomach bugs–cleaned her up, gave her some water; tucked her in bed for a bit. But she wouldn’t settle. I brought her downstairs and sat with her on my lap, as she clung to me. She was acting differently. She could barely sit up. She kept saying, “Mommy, I’m scared.”

All this after throwing up only twice??

She seemed to be getting worse quickly. She was practically limp in my arms, and then her eyes rolled back for a second.

And that was it. My mind took off racing. What if it is her heart? That was all I needed. Without another thought, I grabbed my purse and put her in the car. She didn’t even have shoes on! I ran back in to get her shoes and then hopped behind the driver’s seat. I turned around to look at her again. Am I overreacting??

“Emmy, are you ok? Should I take you to the hospital, or do you want to go back inside?”

She said weakly, “I want to go to hospital.”

Done. I frantically drove to the hospital, peeking back to check on her along the way. She looked like she was going to pass out. Her eyes were closing, and her head was hanging down. I tried talking to her, but she would only answer in a slight whisper.

“YOU OK, EMMY?? ARE YOU EXCITED ABOUT YOUR BIRTHDAY COMING UP???” I was trying to get her interested in something–anything!

When we got to the ER, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. At last, we were safe. Someone was going to help us.

I practically ran her inside, and rattled off her health history. Emmy seemed to perk up when she noticed the tvs. And then she perked up even more when they brought her some Batman stickers. And then she REALLY perked up when they brought her an ice pop.

And all of a sudden, the child who completely scared the heck out of me an hour prior was sitting up in the hospital bed, happily watching Monsters Inc., eating her ice pop, and chatting up the hospital staff. She looked great. And then the attention started to turn to mom…

“So, mom, did you call the pediatrician?”

Nooooo.

“You didn’t call the pediatrician?”

Noooooooooooo. Honestly, it didn’t even cross my mind to call the pediatrician. After what we’ve been through medically with Emmy, I didn’t want to waste a precious second. In the past, I’ve seen her situation change in, literally, a heartbeat. She’s gone from “ok” to “clinging to life” in the space of a few seconds. The doctors will remind me that it was different back then. She was post-surgery. That was 2 whole years ago. But after living through that…after witnessing what happened to her…I can’t just forget. When I see her start to fade on me, my mind goes back there in a split second, and I freak out.

I think the staff in the ER thought I was a little bonkers. My child threw up twice, and I brought her to the ER. That’s all it takes, apparently, for Mom to freak out. I was told that she’s a healthy child, and I should treat her just like any other. And if she vomits, I shouldn’t worry about her heart.

So it seems the answer is, yes, she’s healthy.

But, seriously, telling me not to worry is like telling someone else to stop breathing. Worrying is what I DO. And I’m quite good at it! I’ve actually perfected it, thank you very much. 🙂

But here’s the deal… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if there were something seriously wrong with Emmy and I brushed it off as nothing. When I feel like she’s giving me signs, it’s impossible to ignore them. I’ve witnessed things changing in an instant. I know the circumstances were different, and that was all 2 years ago. I know she was post-surgery. But after living through that, I can’t forget it.

So, yes, we may be back to the ER one day, and Emmy may get a repeat of Monsters Inc. and an ice pop. But next time, I’ll call our pediatrician on the way over…

Mrs. Personality

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When I picked Emmy up from gymnastics’ class yesterday, the teacher said, “She has such a great personality. You can’t help but smile around her.”

This is so true.

Emmy wakes up in the morning with a smile on her face and usually says something sweet like “I love toast with jelly!” or “I can’t wait to see Miss J!” (one of her therapists, whom she adores).

Her Speech therapist wrote the following in her journal: “When we finished our crayon box today, Emmy said, ‘I am so, so happy we finished it!’ It was so cute.”

The other day, she made a beeline for her teacher before school and gave her a hug, to which the teacher responded happily, “Hi Emmy! I got my morning hug!”

She’s already started getting report cards from preschool, and the comments make me smile: “Emmy always comes into the therapy room excited and ready to work.”

This has been the gift of Williams syndrome.

I sometimes wonder what she would be like if she didn’t have Williams syndrome. Would she be anywhere near this positive — this smiley? I also wonder if her interests would be different. Right now, she is really into anything that has to do with Halloween (ghosts, monsters, vampires), and she’s into superheroes (particularly Superman). She says in a wavering voice with a sly smile, “I want a spooooooky book.” And she loves the thrill of a “scaaaaary” story.

At this age, Charlotte was dressing as a princess every day. I wonder if Emmy’s interests have anything to do with her diagnosis, or if she would’ve been into monsters and Superman regardless? I’ve seen plenty of kids with WS dress as princesses…

I think about how much of her personality comes from WS, how much of it comes from Emmy, and how much of it comes from our family…

I see that her sense of humor is really starting to come through. And I think…it that us or is that Williams syndrome? Is that my dry sense of humor, or is it Williams syndrome?

People might say, “Why even think about it? It doesn’t matter now because this is who she is!”

The thing about me is that I can’t help but think about it. Curiosity gets the better of me…

From the moment our children are born, isn’t that what we do? “Are those daddy’s eyes or mommy’s?” “She gets her serious side from you…” “Oh look! She’s into crafting! Just like mommy!” “Aww! She has a dimple like daddy!”

Because I’m somebody who likes to organize and who, instinctively, puts things into nice little piles — whether in my mind or on my shelves — I think about Emmy’s traits. Will anything ever be obviously *me*? Will I ever say, “She totally got that from me!” Or will all her traits belong — in a sense — to Williams syndrome?

The truth is that I don’t know who she would’ve been without Williams syndrome. So, of course, it’s a pointless exercise in my mind — one that just raises more questions than answers. But, like I said, I can’t help it…

Regardless of its origin, her awesome personality makes her endearing, and it will serve her well in life. I just love that she’s up for anything. I could say, “Hey, Emmy, you feel like going grocery shopping?” And she’ll clap her hands and say, “Ohh I just love grocery shopping!”

Or my favorite — we went out for sushi the other night, and I ordered a spider roll.

Emmy chimed in joyfully, “I love spiders!!”

You can’t help but smile around her.

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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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Starting Over

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One week before Emmy’s first birthday, we were headed to Boston for a “vacation.” A mom asked me why we were vacationing in Boston. Did we have family there? Were we going to take the kids to the Children’s Museum?

I was vague with my response. “Oh you knowww…the usual stuff people do…”

If I had told her the real reason — that we were going to the Williams Syndrome Association‘s National Convention — I would’ve had to tell her that Emmy has Williams syndrome. And I wasn’t prepared to do that.

Very early on in Emmy’s diagnosis, we met with many doctors to find out more about our little girl. One of those doctors advised us not tell people about Williams syndrome right away.

You see, right before Emmy was born, we moved to a new town. So nobody knew us. And the doctor wanted people to get to know Emmy, and our family, first — without the label of “Williams syndrome.”

I took that to heart, and I didn’t tell anybody. Only our immediate families and a few friends knew. As time passed, I used to think, “Gosh this is starting to feel very uncomfortable and secretive.” But so much time had gone by, and I hadn’t said a peep. So it felt strange for me to now say, “Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for the past year…”

It was a cycle that fed upon itself. The deeper I got into the secretive nature of it, the harder it was to say something.

And then, when Emmy was 1.5 years old, and we were a few weeks away from heart surgery, I FINALLY opened up to a neighbor. She was so incredibly sweet about it, and I wondered why I hadn’t just told her all along.

At that point, I kind of began “The Big Reveal” and started telling people left and right. But at this point, it was odd because everyone thought that we were just a regular family going through regular family stuff. And I would say, “Sooo you know us very well by now…but there’s something surprising I have to tell you. Emmy is going to have heart surgery next week” [which was met by complete shock and, sometimes, horror] “and she has something called Williams syndrome, which is very rare, and comes with all sorts of implications” [which was met with more shock followed by kindness].

If I were to do this all over again, I would’ve kept it a secret until I got a better handle on it, and then I would’ve told people. So maybe 2-3 months. After a year and a half, it came across as very shocking. And I think people also wondered why I had been hiding it for so long. When I think back on it, it’s very possible that the doctor meant for me to keep it a secret for 2 months and not a year and a half. But I didn’t think to ask about the exact timeline. I was just trying to process it all myself.

So after “The Big Reveal,” everyone knew. And I actually felt more comfortable with people knowing than not knowing. We needed a lot of support during and after her heart surgery, and people were there for us in droves. I was glad that I shared it publicly (I started blogging a little before then) because we couldn’t have gone through heart surgery without that support.

I was very comfortable with Williams syndrome, very accepting of Emmy, and very open about the diagnosis.

And then we moved.

And I never realized that we would be starting over. We would be back to a point where no one knew. I didn’t even have time to think about all of this before because we moved so quickly. And then once we were here, it hit me. All new people. None of them with any clue about our little family and what we’ve been through.

And now I would have to start telling people again. If I had thought about it before, I probably wouldn’t have imagined that it would be a big deal because I’m so open about Williams syndrome. But, somehow, it ended up being a big deal. Because I’m back in that same picture that the doctor painted early on. I’m new to a town. Nobody knows us. And, yet, we’re carrying a label.

Shouldn’t people get to know Emmy first before I hoist this label on top of her? Shouldn’t people get to know our family before I say, “My daughter has a syndrome that you’ve never heard of…” What would they think?

It’s been so long since I’ve thought about what others think when it comes to Williams syndrome, or how our family will be perceived, or the implications that a label would have on Emmy.

Things have changed because she’s older. She’s 3.5 years old, and she wants to play with other kids. She’s no longer a baby. She’s much more aware of how she’s treated by others and more aware of the reactions she gets. She can read people’s faces now. She can feel how they relate to her and can tell if they’re comfortable around her.

Keep in mind that Emmy doesn’t know what Williams syndrome is. I’ve told her, but she doesn’t understand it yet. Charlotte, my five year old who is typical, doesn’t really understand it either. So it’s a lot to take in. But I think that Emmy can feel that she’s different in some ways. She knows that she takes longer on the stairs when other kids just race down. She knows that she stands in the front of the line because she’s so tiny. I think she knows that there’s something there, and I think she is perceptive about how others relate to her.

So I find myself in the same place but a different circumstance. I’m in a new town where nobody knows about Williams syndrome…but now my child is older. And my mind doesn’t go to, “What will people think? How will they react to our family?” My mind goes straight to, “I just want to protect her.”

My instinct is not to tell. I want to protect Emmy, and I worry about how others will treat her. Not everyone understands what it means to have special needs. Not everyone grew up around someone with a disability. I, myself, had no clue about any of this until she was born.

But, even though my instinct is not to tell, when I finally told people before, life got a little easier. I wasn’t carrying around a secret, and I wasn’t silently censoring myself in every conversation — wondering if I gave too much away.

It might be better for me to tell.

Another Williams syndrome mom said a while ago, “It’s a great way of weeding people out. You can see who you really want to be friends with very quickly.”

So there I was, last Friday, talking to a mom in our new town. A possible new friend. She asked me casually about Emmy’s therapies, which she gets in school. So I replied, “Emmy has something called Williams syndrome.” My explanation of Williams syndrome is still lacking. It comes out in a rush like: “It’s a very rare syndrome that no one has ever heard of and has lots of implications…but she’s doing great!”

I have to work on my explanation. It’s a lot to take in.

But the mom smiled and said, “Oh, ok.”

This is where we are — starting over.

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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