A Better Understanding

I always thought I was a fairly nice person, a decent person, a person who cared about others. I still think I was, but now I know I am better, and I have my daughter to thank for it.

When I was trying (and trying and trying) to get pregnant, I began with a rosy outlook and the assumption that I wouldn't have any real problems doing what it seems like everyone else I've ever known could do. I had no reason to believe that getting pregnant would be a problem for me. But it was. I was worried and felt alone because infertility is not something that is widely talked about in public. It wasn't something I just wanted to bring up over dinner with friends...even really good ones. So, out of a need for more information about treatment options and a general sense of alone-ness, I moved out of my comfort zone and joined an internet message board for women who were going through the same thing. Throughout my journey to get pregnant, I was able to share the ups and downs, the heartaches and the joys, the fears and the worries with others. But almost more importantly, I gained a new sense of empathy for those who suffer in silence, waiting and wondering and feeling alone, even though they really aren't. That was the first lesson my daughter taught me, even before she was born.

The second lesson came after she was born. She was absolutely wonderful and healthy, but she was anything but content. She had HORRIBLE colic for a solid 4 months, and quite honestly, she was about 7 months old before I felt like I truly enjoyed more moments with her than not. She was, and still is, extremely strong-willed, making those infant colicky months something I can truthfully say I am thankful are behind us. When most mothers were telling me, "Oh, someday when she's 16, you'll look back at this infant stage and long for these days again..." I was feeling like Emily couldn't grow out of that stage fast enough. Even now, 2 years later, I still feel that way. When she's 16, I'm certain I'll miss some of the baby stages, but not the colicky infant stage.

Needless to say, I once again felt like the odd-ball, the only one who felt the way I did. But once again, I stepped out of my comfort zone and began to be very open and honest with people about what I was going through with Emily. Through that honesty, I was able to make at least one really great friend. She too, had a strong-willed little girl who was just starting with colic about the time that Emily was beginning to grow out of it. As a result of my honesty with this mom and a new sense of empathy for moms whose children were a little "more" of everything, a strong and wonderful friendship began to grow. I was there for her to lean on when colic was at it worst, and she has since been there for me, as we face current challenges. Once again, Emily taught me a valuable lesson in empathy and understanding.

Now, Emily is teaching me yet another lesson. She is teaching me how to empathize with those who struggle to do what others take for granted. As I've mentioned before, Emily is having trouble talking. We've moved from just assuming that she was a late talker, to having her involved in speech therapy to help nudge her in the right direction, to being quite concerned that she may have an actual speech disorder. This is still very hard for me to accept and to wrap my mind around. How can my perfect, beautiful little baby girl, who I know is so smart and funny and wonderful and stubborn and empathetic have a disorder that may prevent her from being perceived as "normal" by the average person? It hasn't yet been too bad, but as she gets older, her lack of speech becomes more and more obvious. I've already had my share of "She's not talking yet and she's 2? My child was talking when he was a year old," or the even more popular, "Well, my uncle's son's friend had a little girl who didn't talk until she was 4 and then she started talking in complete sentences with perfect pronunciation..." or my personal favorite, "Well, just wait until she does start talking...you'll wish you could go back to these days." Somehow, I have my doubts about that. I just want her to be able to say "I love you, mama" or "I want some juice." Heck, I'll even settle for single words.

You see, Emily is over 2, with the receptive language skills of a 2+ year old, yet her expressive language skills are currently those of a 1 year old. In plain English, she thinks at or above her age. She understands most of what we say. She even knows what she wants to or should say, however she can't say it. The things she can actually say are typical of a 1 year old. I've been frustrated by her lack of ability to communicate, but I can't even begin to imagine how frustrated she must be. I often wonder if she hears me asking her the same question 5 times and just thinks to herself, "Why doesn't my mama get that I know what she's asking...I just can't tell her. I'm doing the best that I can." And that literally breaks my heart, because in my impatience, I am guilty of forgetting how hard she's probably trying. And if I'm guilty of this, as her mom who knows everything about her, how much more so is the average person she will meet?

It's really hard for me to think of the road ahead of Emily. She may need speech therapy well into her school years. She may appear to be well behind her peers simply because her brain has trouble sending a message to the muscles in her mouth. She may struggle with making friends, my beautifully enthusiastic, loving, empathetic little girl. She may feel stupid, or be made to feel that way, by those who do not understand. She may struggle with school, something that neither her daddy or mommy will really be able to understand. Yet it will be our job to make sure that she knows that she is perfect in our eyes and in God's eyes. It will be my job to make sure that she feels loved and accepted and has confidence in herself. And it is likely to continue breaking my heart, and my own prejudices and stereotypes and make me more loving and understanding and empathetic in the process.

So far, I think Emily has taught me a lot more than I have taught her.