When I heard the word “advocate” for the first time, I assumed it was very political. I am not political, I reasoned, so therefore I couldn’t be an advocate. Yes, I vote–but running for office is not in my future (although I have learned never to say never). Little did I know that being an advocate was not limited to politics. It is so much more. It is giving a voice to the voiceless, or those who are barely heard.
Recently I read a quick read called, “10 Things That Would Make Special Needs Parent Cringe If You Knew.” I wanted to know what parents of neurotypical children would think I would be upset if they knew, and the tagline pulled me in. It was catchy, but did it reflect me? I want to learn from them As I read through the list, I couldn’t help but feel I needed to share my opinions on the topic of jealousy. I
Typical, adjective, having the distinctive qualities of a particular type of person or thing. Oxford Dictionary I use this term a lot, as many other people do when referring to the general public. I probably use it too much when I think about “if only.” I know some people do not like this term, and I don’t blame them, I don’t either. I still daydream about “if only” Some days it’s just as simple as looking at my son. His
Not long after I recorded the “Going Out” OHS Podcast episode, we decided to go to the beach as a family. Despite just talking about the very topic—how difficult it is to do family activities with Asa—I was still, somehow, unprepared. We went to a lovely, clean little beach that is a mere 45-minute drive from our home. I’m beginning this piece on my phone as I sit in my parked minivan with Asa, and this is my view. You’d
I used to joke that I had no idea how to wean a child without being pregnant with another one. Our oldest was nearly two when, in the second trimester with his younger brother, my body shifted its focus to the baby. My milk supply dwindled, and my son lost interest. It worked out brilliantly, without requiring me to take a tough stand. This was especially a relief because we have always called breastfeeding “boobies,” and our oldest was an
My daughter is watching me parent a special needs child, even when I don’t think she is. She sees me with her brother. She sees me cooking and cleaning. She sees me all the times I say I can’t play right now. But mostly, she sees my disappointments even when I think I’m doing my best to hide them. The other morning was one of those moments. First, I got the call canceling the appointment for my son that I
We know these people exist. The people who think that children like mine are drains on society. That if you don’t have something to offer the world, your life has less value. What we don’t typically see is someone posting their opinion on social media and not expecting that there will be repercussions for their words. The other night while scrolling on Facebook, I came across a post. Screenshot after screenshot of horrible, disgusting, “freedom of speech” arguments, stating opinions
Implications on Me As it was nearing my son’s first birthday, his teacher and trusted caregiver at his day school handed us the first of many to come, “Ages and Stages,” a form with questions about at what level the child is performing specific tasks. I had never seen this with my typical daughter. She kindly suggested I fill it out and take it with me to my son’s 1-year checkup that would be the next week. A few weeks
“Your child won’t die from being home,” began the response that triggered this post. It wasn’t a response to anything I said or did. Still, a tightness grew in my chest as I realized this person had no idea what many parents and caregivers are going through at this very moment. This “letter” is for all the people who are wondering why others are fighting for their children to receive in-person education to stop continued regression even though I still
I made it ten years as a mother before I had to clean poop off of a wall. This isn’t a bad record considering we’ve had no break from changing diapers for the past decade. After all, many children go through a poop-smearing baby/toddler phase, and this is one gross habit my kids never got into—though there are plenty of others! A single, isolated poop-cleaning episode during year eleven of my marriage would not in itself be a noteworthy event—especially
