“‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I just have to grab something from upstairs.’
The theme was polka dots. Our closest family and friends congregated around the room, perfectly inspired by Pinterest. Assorted colors of paper plates were affixed to the ceiling, streamers artfully strewn, creating a whimsical ambiance. The hallway, lined with 12 perfectly selected photos, capturing each smile of the first twelve months. And one perfectly constructed smash cake. We were ready to celebrate.
Except, I was upstairs, in my closet, crying uncontrollably
At this point in our story, my daughter could not yet sit up. She tested zero percentile for her OT skills, barely babbled and did not appear to understand us. We were already three months into speech and physical therapy. We had seen three specialists and we were no closer to an answer.
But this was her first birthday party. And we had over thirty guests waiting downstairs to celebrate her. Every child has some delays. Don’t worry about anything. My friend’s cousin’s neighbor’s son didn’t talk until two and he went to Harvard. She’s fine.
‘I’ll be right down. I’m just searching for something to wear that doesn’t make me look like one giant polka dot.’
But I couldn’t go down. I only had one thought.
This day is a celebration of everything she can’t do.
Every book, every blog, every post, every conversation at the water cooler was about the milestone a child should have by the first birthday. Some days, I would lie. Some days, I would redirect the question. Most days, I would just smile and comment on the challenging adjustment to parenthood. But I never let them see my fear.
But in my closet, barely large enough to hold my oversized, stained sweatshirts, I was huddled in a ball, trying to find my brave face. By March 5th, I had hoped that all the things were waiting for would just magically occur.
This was my first time having a birthday for my baby girl. I did everything a mother was supposed to do. Our story started like everyone else. Just 365 days ago she came into the world. She was received by a loving family. Her entrance was marked by an excessive amount of photos. I whispered the words to happy birthday as she purred in her sleep. Welcome to the world baby girl. We are going to make an incredible life for you. I learned to nurse. I learned to change a diaper. I learned how to make her laugh. But while my friends continued to turn the pages in the prerequisite handbook, I was floundering.
Maybe it was true fear that stopped me from going down the stairs.
Maybe it was anger that this was our story.
Maybe it was being afraid to ask for help.
Maybe if my beloved guests saw my vulnerability, I would expose how terrified we all were.
I don’t know what finally made me move. Probably the giggles I heard coming from the party. I splashed some water on my face. Pulled on an excessively large sweater and some very loud polka dot socks for a distraction and walked down the stairs. With a deep breath, I grabbed the smash cake, found my husband’s brave face in the crowd and walked towards my beautiful baby girl.
Age 1. Loving her yellow frosting.
And again, it is March 5th. I am crying. I do it every year. But somewhere around age three, the tears turned from pain to joy.
A birthday celebrates a milestone. My child just follows a different trajectory and it took me about half of her life to get on board with it.
Saying ‘Yes to the Dress’. Age 6
On the evening of her sixth birthday, my husband and I tuck her in with seven of her My Little Pony Equestria Dolls. She tells me all of their names and asks me to tuck them in as well. I breath in every minute of March 5th. I watch her giggle eating purple pancakes. I inhale her joy watching a performance that didn’t cause a sensory overload. I witness her accost a stranger to cheer going ‘Pee pee on the potty!’ I marvel as she reads her name from the birthday card. I celebrate every morsel of this incredible child and everything she continues to achieve.
Her birthday is no longer a litany of the things she cannot do. I have learned how to truly celebrate it.
It is my once a year reminder to breathe. Welcome to the world baby girl. We are going to make an incredible life for you. No matter what.
Now, I just have to work on my baking skills.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Leah Moore an English Teacher from Westchester, New York. Follow her on Instagram hernone and visit her website here. Do you have a similar experience? We’d like to hear your important journey. Submit your own story here. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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