"Sometimes I see you stuck
With lists of things you'll never do
And you do — you do — you shine"
-Song from Rachel Coleman "Baby Signing Time"
We all have constant "Baby Signing Time" songs in our heads because that is Roman's playlist in the car. This song in particular really gets me these days. I have a new found compassion for biological mothers of kids and adults with Down syndrome. First, I want to explain why I say "biological moms." It's because I'm an adoptive mom, and I very deliberately chose this life. I knew it was going to be hard. I knew Roman would require extra patience, that he'd be perpetually behind in milestones, that he'd likely have medical problems, and that all my experience as a mom wouldn't fully prepare me for this new world of therapies, ARDs, and IEPs. Biological mothers think they're going to have a typical baby for at least some amount of their pregnancy. They get a diagnosis handed to them that they didn't ask for. Every pregnant mom wants a healthy "normal" baby. Every mom wants their baby to meet and beat those milestones. They want their baby to be the smartest and most attractive. I was one of these moms before I was an adoptive mom.
Last week I had a tour of a private preschool that has a 50:50 ratio of inclusion for kids with special needs. I'm trying to figure out where Roman will best thrive next year. I walked in for the tour and they "needed" me to fill out a developmental checklist. I immediately bristled inside. I resisted and gave some push back because sometimes people try to tell me I have to do something and it turns out they just want me to do it and will back down if I question them. Why didn't I want to fill out this form? First of all, I was wearing Roman and he's known for grabbing at anything that I'm trying to write and moving his face right in front of my face as I try to see around him. We have to fill out papers at the doctor all the time and this is not an easy feat when I am wearing him on my front. But most importantly, it is so darn depressing to check the "rarely/never" box next to a list of age appropriate milestones so many times. I mentioned above that I knew Roman wouldn't reach milestones on time. I knew it; I know it now. I chose it. And it is still a gut punch. I don't get it. Maybe I thought I'd love him in a more objective way, that I'd be able to look at this rationally and not so emotionally. My heart though. It cries out for my boy, "I'm so sorry, buddy, that this is all so hard for you. I'm sorry every accomplished task is followed up by a list of new tasks for you to learn. I'm sorry we are always pushing you. I'm so sorry, baby." I think he's the best, and I want everyone else to see how amazing he is too instead of seeing a list of things he can't do.
They were adamant that I fill out these forms though. It colored my whole day as it usually does. It left me feeling heavy with despair, and I don't usually have a good fast way to shake it off and replace it with hope. This song kind of helps though.
I was just thinking that if I, an adoptive mom, take these moments so hard, how much harder must it be for someone who didn't chose this, who wanted a "normal" baby. The bio moms must scream inside their heads at these moments, "Why can't my child do these things!!!"
Of course, he's worth it! It was just a 'hard' that I didn't expect going into this adoption. I thought I knew enough that this wouldn't hurt my heart.
I'll end my musings today with another part of the song (by Rachel Coleman) that leaves me with more hope. Insert "Roman" for these random names.
"And Sammy will do what Sammy will do when Sammy is ready to do it
And Trevor will do what Trevor will do when Trevor is ready to do it
And Lucy will do what Lucy will do when Lucy is ready to do it
And they′ll do it in their own time
