The Picture Isn't Perfect

A manifesto of stuffing too-big toddlers into double strollers and loving pieces of art

I have never had an easy time with fitting into an image of normalcy -- ever. And after thirtyfajbnxuwsomething years of getting on this way, I've long since given up on attaining the alternative. I'm a depressed retired punk rocker, a book and crystal collecting crazy cat lady with Bell's Palsy married to a (handsome) IT computer nerd living at our residence amidst thousands of dollars worth of houseplants. My two toddlers happen to be on the autism spectrum (all of that pumping breast milk, and they still had to be autistic, smh...), and my life is unlike anything you could ever imagine. And I'm so glad that we've met!

The picture is far from perfect. I'm here for all of the messy bits and hard stuff between the beautiful moments. I boldly hold space for all of my less-than-attractive aspects with the same respect that I do for my successes. I get the highest privilege to show up daily in life at never quite 100% capacity while still managing to see another challenging 24 hours through with what's left of my makeup after a little bit of crying.

The woman that I want to be is always my guiding star, and I'm content while attempting to be her again and again. On good days, I consider it my favorite job. On the difficult days, when I choose to keep that as a priority, I find myself still winning in a meaningful sort of way. I'll take it.

That woman I strive to become is brave on the toughest days. She is strong and able to do what is necessary for her family and herself to prosper through anything. She has a deep love for experiencing her life, and knows how precious of a thing it is to share moments from it with others around her to create memories. That woman cherishes the diversity of her family and she chooses to celebrate each victory in a huge way. She holds up well, and has a constant supply of grace to carry her through every rise and fall of the tide. (Roll Tide, by the way. Yeah Alabama Crimson Tide...)

I often get told that I'm a good mother, that I'm good with my children, and that they -- the observer -- could never see how they themselves could accomplish all that I manage to do with the finesse that I handle it with. I accept this as a compliment, even if I know that they would, of course, find a way to proceed to play their game of life with the cards that they have been dealt, just as I do. There is no great secret.

Do you consider whether or not I've felt bitter pangs of grief, or even resentment? Would you like to know? Because I definitely have, to be sure. I would not be being honest with you or doing myself any favors by denying this truth. I've looked on other families and wondered to myself if they knew just how blessed they were to have beautiful and healthy neurotypical children who could respond to them asking in annoyance, "Didn't I just say to stop doing that?" Then, I have looked down at my own double stroller holding a too-big toddler inside to avoid the usage of a harness, and I have felt every bit of thanksgiving I considered as warranted from the other family for my own two little atypical marvels.

How amazing is it that Caleb gives the warmest hugs that you could ever ask for? How totally interesting is it that Colette is learning to sing the words to songs before speaking? The pair of them are two of the sweetest kids that you'll ever meet, and their smiles warm me up inside just right on these winter days. My therapist and I discuss my family often, and she's excited to meet both children during one of our sessions some day soon.

My children have an amazing village of support, they wear the most stylish clothing, and they have a two-parent home full to bursting with love and pride at everything that they do. The same could not be said for me as a child, certainly. "Small" things like this do not go un-noticed by me anymore.

My heart is full, even though I don't have a master plan to see me through what all is coming. I'm happy with what I know and I know that I will learn what is required of me to finish my race (and win a medal). I feel a confidence in myself that was impossible to attain before becoming the mother to my amazing kids. I have a strength within me that all mothers become imbued with, and it has been tempered by the fires of this unique path that I'm taking as a special needs Mom.

I don't complain (audibly) about extended diapering phases, sensory overwhelm and big emotions, children who don't say, "Thank you" or "I love you", physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, feeding therapy, special instruction, constantly commuting, severe food aversion, or co-occuring gastrointestinal discomfort and ADHD. My family is AMAZING, and I can't imagine us any other way.

My husband is the most handsome man I know. He is a wonderful helper, provider, lover and protector. He is good in bed (can sleep for hours), and he treats me like gold. He has given me the two most precious gifts that I will ever receive in my entire lifetime. My son is so strong. He is my buddy and has been a fighter from his days in my womb. He has a beautiful, analytical mind and he loves to laugh and spread joy. My daughter is such a beauty. She has the sweetest little voice and a fiery spirit like her Mom. She is my little friend who thinks the world of me, and I of her. Heck, even the cats... They have the most graceful, long tails and such keen eyes. Their mewls are like the trill of bells wafting along a baroque hymn!

I possess a true treasure of my heart within this family and life of mine. The worth is immeasurable and only appreciating every moment. So what, if the picture isn't perfect? All the best art isn't.