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The first day I started teaching, I knew I’d found my calling. As if I’d ever give that up. I also knew I wanted to be a parent. And one day, when I had kids, I would love them and want to be with them of course. But not like, all the time. The plan was always to work AND parent—in perfect balance. Because that’s totally doable, right? (We’re terribly naive in our youth, aren’t we?)
I thoroughly enjoyed my maternity leaves with both my babies. But knowing I’d soon be back at work made it easier to savour every moment at home with them. The light at the end of the tunnel shone bright.
Mid-way through my mat leave with my second child, daycare was arranged, schedules were organized, and I was ready to go back to the classroom I loved, to a job I was really good at, blissfully unaware that things were about to change.
And my god how they changed. Unexpectedly and in the blink of an eye life flipped upside down. At eight months old our daughter Avery was diagnosed with a rare (as in one-of-a-kind-where-in-the-hell-did-this-come-from-holy-shit) genetic condition. Doctors didn’t have much information about her particular chromosome deletion/duplication, so we had no idea what to expect.
The geneticist painted a grim picture, tossing out warnings like, “She’ll never walk without assistance,” “She may not verbalize, so start signing with her asap,” “long-term care,” “There will be significant developmental delays,” and other equally discouraging possibilities. As a compulsive planner, the uncertainty of it all was hard to handle. I struggled to find the positives in what I could only see at the time as an open ended road to…. who knows where?
Years later I find myself at home with my two amazing children (well, one has flown the nest but lands back at home every summer between semesters of university). I’ve definitely had trying moments and the toll that stress has played has done a number on us over the years. I don’t know if it’s gotten easier necessarily or if our outlook and ability to just roll with it, has improved, but most days, life feels calmer. Maybe calm isn’t the right word. I think it just feels more natural.
Read: Self-Care For Caregivers
Our eldest child, our resilient son, has been incredible through all of it. He could have ver easily become a “Glass Child.” Jealous of the attention lavished on his younger sibling. Or insecure or feeling less than. But instead, he grew into a fully opaque and confident empath. I am so grateful for that and for him.
We have an incredible network of friends, family, therapists, teachers and doctors encircling us. We know and appreciate how lucky we are to have a support system. Not everyone does.
As the saying goes, the days are long, but the years are short. It’s gone by faster than I can belief. The days of paediatric specialists and a myriad of firsts are behind us. Avery turns eighteen this summer. Eighteen. Adult. This “failure to thrive baby” has surprised everyone. She is thriving and then some. I know she will continue to delight us with everything she is. And she’s a lot—a lot of attributes that make her incredibly unique. I’m her mom, but I can say without bias, that she is unlike any other human I’ve ever met. Her heart is pure—no judgement or envy or self-doubt or malice. She’s only smiles and love, nurturing and compassionate. I’m pretty sure she’ll stay that way. It’s the way she was built.
I never imagined I’d be a stay at home mom. But how lucky I am to have the privilege?
