Happy Birthday, Christian, 9 Years Old

[Guest guest]

http://www.bloggingbaby.com/entry/1234000053056423/

Happy Birthday, Christian, 9 Years Old

Happy Birthday, Christian, 9 Years Old

Posted Aug 29, 2005, 12:30 PM ET by Creer

I have never done one of these here birthday newsletters for one of

my kids. And you know what? I don't care whether it's copying

everyone else. I so wish that I had had something like this from the

time my kids were babies, and so I am starting now. Christian, you

might be the hardest child to write about in terms of me breaking

down… except if I were writing about one of your brothers. I was

walking through Walmart today and thinking about how the heart opens

up and the capacity I have to love each of you to the fullest hilt

of my being, and I don't understand how that is possible. I know I

was talking to someone earlier this year who said that they thought

that you do have a certain amount of love and that it gets divided

among those you love, but the more I live, the more I disagree. Our

capacity to love is limitless.

I will say, though, Christian, that you are the child I fret the

most about. And, of course, that is because you have special needs.

I know that all children have special needs, but all children do not

require the speech therapy evaluations that nearly led me to blow

torch the speech clinics, and all children do not require the

Individual Education Program (IEP) meetings, the three-hour

diagnoses, nor the nearly blood-drawing battles with your father

that did not render us asunder, but certainly didn't make life

anymore pleasant while the marriage was dying. It was kind of like

the marriage was dying of terminal cancer, and then to boot, it

developed Restless Leg Syndrome, which made it twitch painfully

along the way. I think I just compared you to Restless Leg Syndrome,

and I apologize.

When you were two years old, all you said was, " Nah! " But you were

so affectionate, so bright, so articulate without words. And so when

I took you to the speech clinic and they wrote up a diagnosis that

didn't take into account that fact that you were two years old and

separated for the first time from your mother, I was livid. You

walked late. You would hold onto our fingers, and stubbornly refuse

to let go, until one day, suddenly and for no reason, you did. It

was the same with your talking. You steadfastly ignored your speech

therapist for six months, leading them to ask me to pursue a

diagnosis of Fragile X retardation, which then led me to have a huge

yelling fit in the speech clinic and take you out of speech

therapy . It was really special listening to the speech therapists

testify in my divorce trial that I had probably damaged you for life

by taking you out of speech therapy. They insisted that you would

never learn to talk, and yet, this year, I sat in the front row of

your class play in which you had a major speaking part as one of the

three pigs.

But there were days when I wondered whether I would ever hear you

say, " I love you, Mamma. " And then there were days when I wondered

whether you would ever stop asking me complicated questions about

dinosaurs which had fifteen syllable names.

Every teacher you have ever had has loved you. You exude sweetness.

I told your new case manager, " You will have to throw out the rule

book when you think of Asperger's and this kid. The first thing he

is going to want to do when he meets you is hug you. " And, of

course, you did. That is not to say that you aren't a prickly pear

sometimes. Sometimes when I put you to bed, I want to lie down with

you and you mutter into your pillow, " No snuggling. I just want to

go to sleep. " You're like a housewife with a migraine sometimes. But

I always kiss you anyway, turning it into a game of trying to sneak

in kisses. And then at other times, you can't stop kissing me, and

today at Pancake City for breakfast, you walked around the table to

kiss Sam, and then paused and turned your cheek and waited for him

to kiss you back. It was just exquisite, and I kept replaying the

memory in my head, charmed by it every time.

You have odd mannerisms, to be sure. You flap your arms like a bird

and hum. We could not get you to stop doing it last night at the

restaurant nor this morning at the restaurant, though you are not

doing it right now. Perhaps it is stimulation, but you seem to do it

when you are really happy, excited, or bored. There are a variety of

reasons why you do it. You also like to run back and forth and hum,

and on the playground, and nowhere else, twirl yourself in a circle,

head cocked to the side, and hum. Sometimes you hold your arms out

in front of you like a ballerina on a jewelry box.

Above all else, you are my child. Let me tell you what that means.

That means that you are a part of me, an extension of me that I

surrendered from my body, that has a life of your own, and yet

remains a part of me. You are the best part of me. I cannot defend

myself to save my life. I shy from confrontation, and I don't always

believe that good things will come to me, or that I deserve them.

But you are another story. I will do anything in my power to love

and nourish you and give you the life that I know you deserve. I

have taken on the experts in the speech and hearing clinic for you,

at the personal expense of having them testify against me in my

court case. Obviously the judge did not think that behaving like an

angry tiger with regard to my child's well-being made me unfit to

mother you. I have taken on teachers and principals. I have taken on

your father, something I will have to continue to do until he or I

is dead. I took on your principal twice. I stretch myself and put

myself in uncomfortable situations and get very angry on your behalf

in ways that I have never done for anyone else, and don't know if I

could. But I think that is because I rise to what your needs and

your situation demands from me.

When you were two years old and I was devastated that so many people

could not see you the way I saw you, when everyone told me I was in

denial about your retardation, my friend Angel told me that when her

sister got divorced, instead of lying down and curling up with

despair, she gave her children the gift of advocacy. And I

determined right then and there never to betray you. I have sold

myself out countless times, discounting my own intuition about my

talents, what I deserved, what I needed. But you, above everyone

else in this world, including your brothers because they have not

yet needed this from me, you I vowed to defend. I made a decision

right then and there to listen to every instinct I had and never to

let anyone tell me what you needed or what was best for you because

I know you better than anyone else does. I know who you are and what

you are capable of, and that you are one of the most special and

unique and amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

And I can't believe that I have been given the charge to be your

mother.

Love,

Mommy.