Growing up, much like every other little girl I assume, I envisioned my life would be perfect in every aspect of the word. I would have a perfect husband (much like the Ken dolls I often played with), the perfect house with a picket fence, and perfect children.
For countless hours, I would get lost in day dreams and act out what I thought my life would should be with my Barbie’s and dolls. More specifically, I wanted to be a mom. Because, naturally, moms could boss people around, could drive a shiny car, buy all the toys they wanted, and got to wear bright red lipstick. Right? Right…
Whenever my Cabbage Patch Doll would get a cold, I nursed her to health. If she got a boo-boo going down the slide at the park, I was right there with a band-aide and a kiss. I was the perfect mom to my perfect child and I couldn't wait to grow up.
Like so many of our childhood perceptions on life, I’d soon be faced with the harsh reality that is adulthood. It seemed as though everything on my grown-up to do list had gone completely wrong.
- Perfect Husband? Currently Accepting Applications
- Perfect house with the picket fence. The city I live in does not approve of picket fences.
- Perfect Children? I’m sorry, come again?
That being said, I was happy with the life I had created out of the cards I’d been dealt and more importantly I was going to be a mom!
I wish I could say that I was excited, however, that would be a lie - at least in the beginning. After having to bury my premature twins just five months prior, excitement was nowhere to be found. In its place was fear, anxiety, and determination.
“When would you like to schedule the termination?” said the doctor who had clearly missed the class on bedside manner.
“I will not.” I replied, and walked out of her office, never to return
.
I've always wondered what it was like to enjoy a pregnancy - to shed tears of frustration when your pants no longer fit or the local grocery is out of double stuff mint Oreos.
How I longed for such simple nuances.
Unfortunately, due to certain medical conditions, my pregnancy consisted of worries if my child would have a nose, or if the medication I was taking would allow his brain to fully form. Everything was high risk and waiting, and I was no good at waiting.
Towards the end of my pregnancy, I received news that the baby boy I had been carefully growing for the past seven months was perfectly normal and healthy. It was the greatest relief I have ever felt to this day. A little over a month later, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who I will refer to on this blog as “A”.
I have yet to find an accurate description of the love a parent has for their child. Some describe it as “Love at first sight” or the “Purest Love”. The day I saw my son for the first time I completely and utterly fell head-over-heels in love with him, but most importantly I felt certainty. With the coming of this 5 lb 11 oz bundle of joy, came the certainty of life after tragedy, of joy after sadness, of faith over doctors opinion, and most importantly the certainty that miracles do happen.
Five years later, I've learned that my once healthy baby boy has Autism among other diagnosis. Regardless of a finding out my son was delayed, so much positive has come from it.
Let it be known as we begin our journey together that I have always been an advocate for the underdog. Not because the underdog is weak or misguided, but because the underdog has always been meant to win and is built with an innate drive and passion for success. It is fulfilling for me to see them rise out of the trenches or the bondage society places on them into a place of leadership and greatness.
My son was born an underdog and I have proudly watched him overcome every single obstacle that has come his way and I look forward to seeing him prove every naysayer wrong.
I look forward to sharing this journey with you, so that maybe you all can learn from A as I have, or even teach each other
I also look forward to reading your comments, emails, and becoming a community with you.
Best Wishes,
Vanessa
