I took Charlotte to the pediatrician for her 9 month well-check this morning. She will be 9 months old on Sunday- what? How is she already this close to being ONE, and finished with her babyhood?
It’s so refreshing to take her to the doctor, let her crawl around the exam room while waiting, and not have an ounce of anxiety about the appointment. Charlotte is perfectly, wonderfully, amazingly HEALTHY. She meets every milestone right on time, eats well, and babbles constantly. She’s never had an antibiotic or even a dose of Motrin.
I don’t write all this to brag, but just to contrast it with the experience of her big brother. ALL of Grayson’s many doctors appointments give me varying amounts of anxiety. I hate having to list the six medications and five supplements he takes every day (most of them 2-3 times a day). I hate having to explain every.single.time. that Grayson can’t stand on a scale to be weighed. And a lot of times it’s hard to have a focused conversation with a doctor with a squirmy, stiff, whiny 3 year old on my lap.
Grayson has had a tough week so far. Since his seizure on Saturday, he’s had two more, one at bedtime last night and one at school this morning. I picked him up early from school today because after his seizure, he fell sound asleep and was sleeping the day away.
When I sit and think about the comparison of my children’s health, it’s so hard not to get a little panicky about Grayson. When I’m totally focused on him, he’s just Grayson, and how he is is “normal” to me. His weird neurological ticks, his constant drool and the way his arms and legs move stiffly and unnaturally- that’s just Grayson. But then I contrast him with Charlotte, and how easily and effortlessly she moves, and learns new things. How she’s already mimicking words, and turns when she hears her name. She’s light years ahead of her brother in development. It’s frightening to face that truth, which I often subconsciously ignore, even though it’s right there, playing out in our living room every single day.
Grayson isn’t a baby anymore, and it’s becoming more and more noticeable that he isn’t a typical kid. When he was a baby, he looked like a baby. Most people had no idea anything was wrong with him. Now, his wheelchair, his awkward movements, his feeding tube, and the fact that he doesn’t respond to people talking to him totally give away that he’s special needs. Which is fine. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of him one bit, there’s just a part of me (probably a big part) that’s heartbroken that Grayson isn’t getting better, and that his differences are just becoming more and more obvious and pronounced.
It kills me to watch my little boy struggle so much and miss out on so much of life. Mercifully, he doesn’t know what he’s missing though, and is surrounded by people who love him and do our best to make his life good.