As I anxiously awaited my fourth son’s first smile, the notion of being labeled as a “special needs” family briefly crossed my mind. Those initial three weeks stretched into three long months, stirring up a whirlwind of thoughts and concerns—not about my family, but about the future of my precious little one, Noah. When the smile finally appeared, it didn’t bring the relief I had hoped for; instead, it filled me with an unsettling sense of uncertainty. My mind was flooded with the reality of Noah, my adorable blond-haired boy who, at 2 ½ years old, could only utter a few words and exhibited developmental delays across multiple areas.
Admitting that we were a special needs family felt impossible when we began genetic testing at four months. I resented the term and the fears it encapsulated, yet it resurfaced during a sedated IV procedure when Noah was just a year and a half. To this day, no genetic diagnosis has emerged, and an MRI revealed only delayed myelination and significant oral-motor difficulties. Despite the uncertainty, a whisper of hope still lingers, even as doctors and friends alike encourage me to acknowledge the concerns that weigh on my heart. Noah has been compared to geniuses like Einstein more times than I can count, but I know these labels are just temporary fixes.
Hope is something I cling to fiercely. I adore my little boy, now 2 ½, and no one wishes for him to communicate his needs more than I do, especially as his tantrums seem to increase in frequency. For so long, I tried to convince myself that everything would turn out fine, envisioning a future where Noah would express himself fluently with words that danced off his tongue. But I’ve come to realize this isn’t our reality. He comprehends our words and shows signs of empathy when his siblings are upset. If he ever finds his voice, it will come after tremendous effort and struggle; smooth communication will likely never describe his journey.
No matter what lies ahead, we are indeed a special needs family today. The seeds of hope had kept me from fully embracing this identity, perhaps to our detriment over the past couple of years. Denying our situation and waiting for everything to miraculously align has cost us valuable time. To secure the services Noah requires, we must own this identity. And you know what? It feels liberating. We diligently fill out forms and transcribe codes, seeking the help he needs, and I must face the reality of enrolling him in a special needs class at our local elementary school. Do I want to do this? Absolutely not. I wish things were different, but the alternative is far grimmer.
Instead of living in denial, I’m choosing to embrace the support that I never thought I’d need. Yes, I’m stepping into a classroom I wouldn’t have chosen, despite my admiration for the teacher. The truth shared by speech therapists I trust is that my youngest son may never communicate verbally. If I continue to pretend that everything will figure itself out or simply wait for change, I won’t be serving Noah or my family well. So yes, we are a special needs family—one that I cherish deeply, and for that, I am grateful.
If you’re interested in learning more about navigating a special needs journey, check out this insightful blog post here. And for those considering at-home insemination, Make a Mom offers excellent kits. Additionally, for pregnancy resources, March of Dimes is an invaluable tool.
In summary, embracing the reality of being a special needs family may be daunting, but it is a necessary step towards obtaining the support our children need. Acknowledging this identity can be freeing, allowing us to focus on the journey ahead with hope and determination.
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