Tag Archives: moments

She finally called me mom.

23 Jul

Yesterday was the first day that Oli ever called me mom.
Today when she said it again someone else was here to validate for me that she actually said it. My husband heard her.

She is 6.

She called me mom.

Not mom-mom or ma-ma-ma. Not ommm or mmmmm or ahhhh or any of the other things that she has called me in the past.

Just mom.

I knew she could. I hoped she would.

I just didn’t know when?

As we were sitting on the chair this morning after breakfast she quieted her head shaking, tipped her head towards mine and said “Mom”. Then she smiled and leaned forward to give me a hug and pat me on the back. She hugged me tightly like “I know mommy. I know you’ve been waiting to hear that from me for a very long time. There you go. I said it.”

I was so shocked that I don’t even think I registered the fact that it was SUCH a big deal until after she left for school. Until after I came back upstairs and sat down with my coffee.

And then it hit me.

I finally heard the word that I have been waiting to hear since she was born. The word that I have dreamt of all of my children saying since the moment that I knew that I wanted to become a mother.

After 6 long years…I finally heard it from Oli.

If she has taught me anything it’s patience. If she has shown me anything it’s that we have to celebrate the tiniest accomplishments because for a child like her, the smallest things become the most memorable.

I remember each of her little moments like it happened yesterday. The pictures of those things are etched in my brain like a tiny portrait of the perfect day. I remember where we were sitting, what we were saying, who was in the room, and the big smile on her face once she realizes what she has done.

I’ll give you an example…

The second time she put two words together (the first time was at 2 years old before she stopped speaking) happened a few months ago. Kekoa, Ginger and I were playing a Lego board game. Kekoa was working on building a car out of red Legos with grey doors and black rubber wheels. Ginger was sitting to my left pulling out all of the tiny grey pieces, trying to annoy her brother. Oli was sitting with my mom eating applesauce. My mom asked her if she was all done eating. Oli tipped her head to the side and quietly said with the confidence of a super star “All done.”

Cue the big smile that graced her perfect lips and the huge yells of celebration and congratulations from the rest of us.

The itty bitty moments, in a regular house, on a regular day, mark the events of my lifetime.

THESE are the moments that I will remember when I grow older and reflect on the good times in my life.

I won’t remember when I bought my first car, when I moved into my first house, or what I wore on my first date.

I WILL remember when my Oli girl said mom for the first time.

I will remember when all of my kids did, but she works so much harder for these milestones. Months and months turn into years and years of therapy to achieve the things that other children seem to do so without effort.

And yet…that is almost exactly what she did today.

Somehow, working on it for all of these years instantly turned into a distant memory.

She said it so clearly, smoothly, and confidently that it just rolled off of her tongue like it had always been there.

Like she had been saying it all along.

I have many people joke with me and say things like “Just wait! Wait until she starts talking all of the time and then you’ll wish for the days that she didn’t.”

I laugh and say “Yeah” like I have some comprehension of what they’re talking about.

I don’t.

I can’t imagine a day that I wouldn’t want her to speak. She could speak to me all day, every day for the rest of her life and I honestly don’t think that I would ever get tired of hearing her sweet voice.

Can you imagine the day that she could have a conversation with me? Can you imagine a time when she could tell me what she wanted for dinner?

I can.

It gives me butterflies.

Nope.

I will never ever wish for these days when she can’t.

But, I know that she will be able to someday because she surprises me all of the time with her accomplishments.

It may have taken her 6 years to call me mom, but she said it!

She said it.

That’s all that matters.

Mother Moments

14 Jun

In the darkest of my fears, I sat alone, watching my little girl sleep. She was three days old. I felt like I had aged 50 years in those three short days. My life as I knew it, was over.

Before me slept an enormous responsibility. Before me slept one of the most vulnerable babies I had ever known. Before me slept my fear, my betrayal, my heartache…my love, my new life…my daughter.

From the moment that I found out that she was blind, I began to have “moments”. Moments are hallmark to all new mothers, but mine became drastically different from theirs. I began to have special needs mother moments.

In order for me to describe to you what those are, I have to tell you about my moments when my first chid was born. When he was born I had lots of those mommy moments where my heart filled with fear and anticipation. My brain would race full speed ahead to the future and I would begin to worry about what would happen to my baby boy.

Will he sit up before he’s 6 months old? Will he crawl by 9 months? Will he walk before he turns 1? Will he be potty trained by the time he’s 3? Will he learn his colors, numbers, and letters before kindergarten? Will he learn to read without difficulty? Will he get good grades, make friends, join the soccer team or play basketball? Will he be a responsible driver at 16? Will he take a girl to the prom? Will he graduate high school with honors? Will he go to college out of state?

All of my worries with my son were not questions of “what if he doesn’t___”. They were questions of will he do this now or later? Will he do this or that? I never feared that he wouldn’t walk or talk, be potty trained, learn the alphabet, read, write, drive, play sports, have girlfriends, graduate or go to college. I knew that he would do all of those things.

I simply worried the biggest worry since the invention of motherhood. My uneasiness festered within the age old question that millions of moms before me have tortured themselves with.

“Was I doing it right?”

After the birth of Oliana my moments of “Was I doing this right?” became overwhelmed by the heavier contemplation and an inward reflection of myself. I began to worry “Can I do this at all?”

In the beginning I had no one to lead me down a previously cultivated path, pointing out all of the obstacles. I had no mother who had been there before me who could assure me that I was doing this thing correctly.

When my son was born I simply picked up the phone and called my mother if I had a question. If she didn’t answer I called a friend. Now when I asked my mom questions about what to do with Oli or what the next step should be, she shrugged her shoulders and responded “I just don’t know.” My friends didn’t know either. If I tried to describe how I felt they all got a look in their eyes of total compassion, but complete incomprehension. They just didn’t understand.

I had been thrown into a tumultuous sea with a flimsy life raft that had a slow leak in it.

No one knew what I was supposed to do. No one could tell me how I was supposed to feel.

I began to ask myself some of those same questions that I asked myself with my son, but with a completely different context. Instead of wondering when she would do things, I began to wonder if she would EVER do them.

Will she learn to read, write, or spell her name? Will she ever be able to tie her shoes? Will she learn to walk down the street by herself? Will she one day be able to say the alphabet, be potty trained, or learn to use a fork and spoon by herself?

I didn’t know.

I started to have moments where I just could not stop myself from reliving what my life had been like before and what it was going to be like in the future. I began to daydream and create alternate realities where I would live the best and worst case scenarios.

The best of the best case scenario was one where upon a trip to an eye specialist, he would look into her non-existent eyes and tell me that there had been some kind of terrible mistake. She wasn’t blind at all.

Best case scenario was that she was only blind and cognitively and developmentally appropriate.

Worst case scenario involved a wheel chair, hospital bed, ventilators, and round the clock nurses. Life would creep slowly by with every minute spent worrying about her health for the rest of my life.

I ended up somewhere in the middle.

These “moments” now take on a whole different perspective as she gets older. Most often it happens when I see another little girl that is her age doing something normal. Something completely average and typical. Running through the park, laughing and playing, tying her shoes, eating an ice cream cone, hugging her mother, saying I love you.

These moments creep up on me and slam that heartache fiercely into my chest and steal the breath from my lips.

Those are the things that my little girl should be doing. I close my eyes and superimpose my girl’s face onto the other child’s body and imagine her living her life without blindness or delays. I imagine her running and playing. I see her looking into my eyes and feel her breath against my cheek as she whispers “I love you mommy.”

But when I open my eyes, those dreams disappear and vanish quietly. Thin, transparent, wisps of smoke that drift effortlessly through my fingers.

This was simply not how it was meant to be. She has a disability. She will ALWAYS have a disability. I cherish who she is and what she can do. I celebrate her numerous victories and feel gratitude towards what we have.

Sometimes…I still get sad. I’m human. I’m a mom.

Those are some of my moments today.

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