A new perspective

As we've approached Clara's fifth birthday, I have been pondering on how different our life is than I think I imagined it would be when our little girl turned five. I think everyone makes plans about the future they expect, albeit often subconsciously.

I had planned on having at least one--probably two--more kid(s) by the time Clara turned five. That unfortunately hasn't happened, but that's another story. I subconsciously pictured our little growing family, a picture-perfect glimpse of happiness as my husband finished his last year of residency and we embarked on a new life. I naturally assumed Clara would be precocious and talented, just like her parents (haha). I'd relish being a mom, despite its challenges, and would commiserate with friends on frequent playdates. Life would be ideal.

However, life doesn't always happen the way we plan.

Words that I'd never thought much about, or even heard of, are now familiar friends to me (well, I wouldn't go quite to friends . . .). Autism. Aspergers. Pervasive developmental delay not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS). Central auditory processing disorder. Dyspraxia. Motor planning. Sensory processing disorder. Adaptive aquatics. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. Speech therapy. Individualized Education Plan. Special education.

I realize with some chagrin that our challenges with Clara are minute compared to the much more serious or life-threatening difficulties that some parents face with their children--cancer, spina bifida, poverty, cerebral palsy, diabetes, displacement by war, abuse, etc. But as this is my blog, in my vanity I am focused on myself. Sorry.

I have felt many emotions. Disbelief. Shame. Disappointment. Embarrassment. Confusion. Uncertainty. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Pain. Self-pity. Grief.

I've heard on more than one occasion something to the effect of "Oh, but my kids do that, too! You just only have her so you don't have anything to compare her to." I think sometimes people don't believe me, or think I'm exaggerating or just being paranoid when I talk about my concerns. And while I'm sure that many of my emotions are ones felt by all parents traveling on the parenting journey, I have also seen, babysat, taught, and interacted with enough children to know what is "normal" and what isn't.

And you know what? I've decided it's okay to not have a child who is "normal."

So I must add to the emotions above. Joy. Surprise. Mirth. Love. Silliness. Pride. Astonishment. Admiration.


Having Clara has helped me feel more deeply. I have savored the sweet victory that comes from a child learning to take her shirt off by herself after I've worked with her about two hundred times. I give thanks that my child now often likes to hold my hand (I used to watch in longing at a mother and a daughter holding hands together). Perhaps this is egotistical of me, but I feel that we appreciate many little things that most parents take completely for granted. I appreciate being able to walk at a somewhat normal pace with my daughter instead of having to drag her along as I used to. I rejoice in a spontaneous kiss and an unexpected "You look like a princess!" comment. I am thankful when she can tell me something she did at school that day. Or when she doesn't growl at a stranger and says "hi" instead. I feel such pleasure knowing that my daughter enjoys drawing now more than she used to, even if she prefers to draw small nonsensical circles on the paper.

Our journey with Clara has introduced me to a whole world of people--good, good people: therapists who have become friends, teachers whom I can call when I need advice, doctors who care about Clara's success and potential. People at church--and elsewhere--who have taken Clara under their wing and love her inexplicably. I confess that I have sometimes wondered why they love Clara when she doesn't always reciprocate in kind. And yet they do, because she is easy to love. With all her wiles and mystery, her rigidity and incomprehensibility, she is a sweet, precious soul. One who wants to please her parents and who is learning to make good choices, albeit painfully at times. She adores books, which makes her mama proud and grateful. She loves music and can sing on pitch, which brings me immense pleasure. She is learning to pray. And she is beautiful--when she laughs and looks into your eyes, the world is a magical place.


There are days when I want to give up, but those days aren't as frequent as they used to be. When Clara asks me for the umpteenth time, "Can we do something else?" but can't think of what she wants to do, or when she can't answer my question or have a normal conversation, I grow frustrated and sometimes angry. Why can't she just count the stinkin' animals? Why can't she just SHARE?!! Why can't she just be normal? Why couldn't I have the kids that all my friends seem to have? Why do I feel so isolated and alone? I don't know if I can do this, I think to myself.


But then, each new day we find--or are given--more strength. I have felt God's love in so many ways--through the people who help Clara, through my amazing husband, through her own actions, through prayers--her guileless ones, ours, and the prayers of others--and sweet experiences. Little by little, I recognize that even if I could, I would not go back and change things.

If she were more neurotypical, I couldn't be the person that I hope I am becoming. I wouldn't be learning the lessons that I so obviously need to learn: learning to let go of what people think of me (and my child), the importance of depending on the Lord, learning to recognize what I can control and what I can't. I am so thankful for Clara, for both the challenging and the wonderful that she brings to us. Being her mother is a gift. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father and for His Son, and having a strong testimony that through temple covenants we can be together eternally provides additional fortitude.

Yesterday an acquaintance was talking to me about Clara, and I told her a little about her situation and she said, "I'm sorry." I was a bit taken aback with my own inner reaction because I realized, I'm not sorry.

I read in a book that happiness is when you don't want to be doing something else. And I am happy.

I can finally say, "Life doesn't always happen the way we plan. Fortunately."