Always More Than a Number

There have been few IEP meetings as important as the today.  In preparation for Kindergarten, Little Bug's team (two special education teachers, two speech language pathologists, the occupational therapists, two physical therapists, one social worker, one child psychologist, and one nurse) all spent 3 months testing him daily on all aspects of life.  I was even asked to spend an hour filling out forms and rating scales and numerous other hours in interviews with various team members.

For better or for worse (and there was a lot of "worse" in the last 3 months), we all sat together today and talked all things Little Bug.  There were words like "learning disability," "delays," "failing expectations," and other words that always feel wrong branding your beautiful child with.  Words that feel wrong, but are always nothing to be ashamed of.

There were numbers.

But Little Bug is more than a number.  He is more than labels.

He is a complicated and beautiful puzzle of strengths and weaknesses.  Can he recognize letters or numbers? No.  But he can recall special details about each of his beloved friends.  Can he manipulate a glue bottle lid or pair of scissors?  No.  But he can do rep after rep of grueling physical work on balls and mats and treadmills with a smile and an "I love you, Ms. XOXO."  Can he sit still for a book at circle time? No.  But he he'd share any book from his shelf with anyone who asked, without batting an eye.  Can he speak words that everyone can understand? No.  But he tells a totally awesome "Why did the chicken cross the road" joke.

It's inevitable in life to be labeled and quantified.  Sometimes it is even necessary to help us help each other. It's not even a bad thing unless you let it be.  I will not let these things define my son when there are so many other parts of him to deserve equal attention.  Like all parts of him, I want to him to wear his weaknesses as a badge of pride.  They are things he overcomes daily and they make him a better, stronger person.

I'm proud of my boy.

To My Valentines

To my Valentine of 15 years: I love the fact this day is nothing special to us.  I don't need a day to force me to show you show much I love you, but I appreciate a day that reminds me that I need to show you how much I love you every day of the year.  Here's to doing nothing and buying nothing...we've already got everything we need and so much more, love.

To my Valentine of 6 years: The love you stir in my soul almost daily is fierce, overpowering, and a little overwhelming at times.  I'd do anything and sacrifice everything for you.  I cannot fathom a world without your smile every day.

To my Valentine of 2 years (it's funny how the months have fallen to make this only our second Valentine's Day together): You've taken my heart and woven into every fiber of it. You've given me the rare gift of being able to share with words just how much you love and need me, and that's been such a humbling experience.  I feel so lucky and so unworthy to be able to love you as your mother.  You teach me such exquisite lessons in love and forgiveness and loyalty.

To my Valentine across the world: My love for you is painful, in the best way possible.  I miss you, I need you, and my heart breaks, quite literally, each morning that I wake up without getting to touch your sweet cheeks. My love for you is forcing me to be brave, patient, and trusting.  And it's also showing me how powerful love is; to love someone with such devotion that you've never met and have no biological connection or claim on is kind of love in its purest form: hopeful and unselfish.  It feels so good, even when it hurts.