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Mar. 8th, 2007 07:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lollardfishNicholas Perry was born two months ago today. These have, without a doubt, been the fastest two months of my life.
Right now, he's in his crib behind me, watching his mobile (little green monsters in Red Sox uniforms) turn. The fact that he can focus on the mobile and make cute little grunting noises of excitement is as good evidence as any of how well he's doing.
I think about his disability every day, especially lately. I called HR offices at the two colleges that offered me jobs, I called disability services in Illinois, I call all sorts of people, and I say, "I have a disabled child," just to break open the conversation. On my on-campus visits, I told people, because these are small departments (5 or 6 people with me), and I need to feel comfortable with them and them with me. Nowhere was it a problem or did I sense anyone feeling uncomfortable, although as parents, all know that there is still some sadness. "They say that they are very sweet," said one senior colleague, meaning it in the best possible way.
At any rate, I talk about it all the time. But, in fact, I know nothing of what it is actually like to have a disabled child, because we are intensly fortunate. It's one thing to be told those horrible words, "Your child has Down's Syndrome." I've written about what that was like. But the next difficulty will be when Nicholas encounters some challenge that he cannot overcome, or that he cannot overcome without extreme difficulty. I don't think it will be walking, because he's physically right in the middle of "typical" growth ranges. He's strong. He's coordinated (for a two-month old). Will it be talking? Will he learn to talk well, or will it be slurred and difficult to understand? Will it be reading? Math? Driving? Hang-gliding? It's not that I obsess about his progress; I would, but there's no point. Given his physical abilities, we revel in his successes and learning abilities thus far. But he is a little quiet; but, he might just be quiet (personality wise). If we didn't have DS, the fact that he was quiet would not make us afraid of his learning to speak, but just glad we had such a sweet child.
Someday, though, there will be a barrier that he cannot break through. If we're lucky, we'll find away around it, together. But around it is different than through it. We'll see.
In general, though, the thing that we focus on is how well he's doing. He's doing so well that it's easy to find oneself drifting out of the realm of a parent of a disabled child to just the realm of any other parent. To dream of education, sports, language skills, and all the things we'd like to dream of. We have to be careful, there. We must leave open all doors for Nicholas to walk through. If we assume he has low potential, he'll have low potential. We believe he'll be able to do anything; anything. But we must, also, be ready for a different reality or risk injuring ourselves, and him. Balancing expectations and desires is a tricky game.
Right now, he's in his crib behind me, watching his mobile (little green monsters in Red Sox uniforms) turn. The fact that he can focus on the mobile and make cute little grunting noises of excitement is as good evidence as any of how well he's doing.
I think about his disability every day, especially lately. I called HR offices at the two colleges that offered me jobs, I called disability services in Illinois, I call all sorts of people, and I say, "I have a disabled child," just to break open the conversation. On my on-campus visits, I told people, because these are small departments (5 or 6 people with me), and I need to feel comfortable with them and them with me. Nowhere was it a problem or did I sense anyone feeling uncomfortable, although as parents, all know that there is still some sadness. "They say that they are very sweet," said one senior colleague, meaning it in the best possible way.
At any rate, I talk about it all the time. But, in fact, I know nothing of what it is actually like to have a disabled child, because we are intensly fortunate. It's one thing to be told those horrible words, "Your child has Down's Syndrome." I've written about what that was like. But the next difficulty will be when Nicholas encounters some challenge that he cannot overcome, or that he cannot overcome without extreme difficulty. I don't think it will be walking, because he's physically right in the middle of "typical" growth ranges. He's strong. He's coordinated (for a two-month old). Will it be talking? Will he learn to talk well, or will it be slurred and difficult to understand? Will it be reading? Math? Driving? Hang-gliding? It's not that I obsess about his progress; I would, but there's no point. Given his physical abilities, we revel in his successes and learning abilities thus far. But he is a little quiet; but, he might just be quiet (personality wise). If we didn't have DS, the fact that he was quiet would not make us afraid of his learning to speak, but just glad we had such a sweet child.
Someday, though, there will be a barrier that he cannot break through. If we're lucky, we'll find away around it, together. But around it is different than through it. We'll see.
In general, though, the thing that we focus on is how well he's doing. He's doing so well that it's easy to find oneself drifting out of the realm of a parent of a disabled child to just the realm of any other parent. To dream of education, sports, language skills, and all the things we'd like to dream of. We have to be careful, there. We must leave open all doors for Nicholas to walk through. If we assume he has low potential, he'll have low potential. We believe he'll be able to do anything; anything. But we must, also, be ready for a different reality or risk injuring ourselves, and him. Balancing expectations and desires is a tricky game.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-09 02:00 pm (UTC)We've always tried to set our expectations and desires to the same goal: they will be who they want to be and achieve what they want to achieve.
And you just never know. The one who never wanted to try anything new has traveled alone and eaten weird foods from street vendors in third-world countries. The one with the most physical disability is the only one who has ever played a team sport (in an adapted-sports league in high school). The one who couldn't read till age 8 went on to love to read, while one who read earlier never liked it; another one who always read well doesn't read for pleasure, while the one with a language processing disorder loves to read. The one who hated school loved college and is thinking of grad school, while the one who liked school wouldn't even consider college. The one with no mobility impairment didn't learn to drive till age 20; the one with almost no active range of motion in her elbows got her license on her 16th birthday. You just never know.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-09 02:52 pm (UTC)