Stop Worrying and Enjoy Your Child
Yesterday, there was a beautiful noise at our house. One that seemed out of place. One that we rarely hear. One that for years was hard to produce.
It was the deep, loud, silly, belly laugh of Cooper playing in a pool with his brother and his brother’s friends. He was in there for three hours total. He was one of the kids.
I have never seen a happier child. Or heard a better laugh. We are talking pure joy.
As I watched him play, I was overcome with emotion.
This is what I prayed for. Every worry. Every hope. Right here. This is what we worked so hard for.
If I wasn’t eight months pregnant I think I would’ve hit my knees and said thank you.
My son was playing.
Every time we pushed. Every time we tried a new therapy or a diet. Every time we hit rock bottom, regressed five steps back, picked ourselves up and tried again.
Every time we refused to give up on our son.
This is it.
Four boys playing.
Splashing. Running. Jumping.
No words needed between them.
Water. The universal language.
All laughing.
My son is one of the boys.
Not three boys and the autistic one. Not three boys and the nonverbal one.
Four boys playing.
Thank God I had my sunglasses on because the tears were rolling down my face.
As his mom, and biggest cheerleader, I have spent so many hours, days, months and even years praying for his joy. I just want my son to be happy. And learning that his definition of happy and mine are two very different things was a tough pill to swallow.
But on top of that, for years, our son suffered from debilitating anxiety. No matter what we did, we couldn’t get him to be happy. We couldn’t get him to be part of our world. Even in the smallest ways.
Our home was not filled with laughter. It was filled with our worry and his worry.
I try to describe Cooper at age three, four and five, and I often come up short. People don’t believe me. Or they think I am exaggerating. Or even lying.
For years our son was busy. Busy watching his Kindle. Busy watching his shows. Busy wandering throughout our home. Busy hiding.
If we went outside, he stayed inside. If we played a game, he hid in his room. If we went somewhere, he stayed home. If we asked him to go for a walk, he hit himself in the head.
Anything new made him anxious. Going anywhere was a disaster. Trying to get him to play produced a meltdown so fierce you’d watch him suffer for hours.
So, we stopped. We stopped forcing him to try new things.
Instead, we worried. And we prayed. But most of all we waited. And then, after six years or so we accepted. We created a world around him so safe and secure and filled with love it didn’t matter if he ever ventured out of his world.
He was our Cooper. Perfect just the way he was.
I spent my car rides to work, showers and moments before sleep, worrying. Worrying that he’d never find joy in anything around him. Worrying that this was it. The was our life forever.
Worrying that he would never make a friend. Or speak a word. Or graduate. Or get a job. I worried about his care. I worried about everything.
But we never gave up. We just did more therapy. If something didn’t work we moved on. We tried new tactics. We did more. Always more. We figured out his medical needs. We built his village. And we never, ever gave up hope.
And then, when the time was right, age seven, we pushed. Ever so gently. We started introducing new things. Water. Pools. Sprinklers. Playgrounds. Trampolines. Kids.
And this summer, after seven years, something clicked.
Our son is laughing. He is seeing the world around him. He is trying. He is joining.
It’s happening.
Our home is filled with the requests, laughter, smiles, noise and silliness of not just one, but two boys. He sees children now. He’s not quite so afraid. Or quite so rigid.
He sees a sprinkler and runs to it. He makes requests to go in boats and to have parities. He sees a park and wants to go. He sees a child and waves.
Oh my god how we prayed for his. And how I worried that it may never happen.
I don’t give advice very often. I more so just tell it like it is. I’m surviving just like the rest of you.
But I used to worry so much I could make a career out of it. Worrying about Cooper and his future was my whole entire life.
There were times where it actually consumed me. I’d miss on out things because of my worry. Or, even worse, I’d spend my time waiting for him to accomplish milestones or achieve joy in a ‘typical’ way. And as as a result, I think I may have missed out.
If I could tell my younger self one thing though, it would be to stop worrying…quite so much. Enjoy your child. Even if every single day is hard and you feel like you have no idea what you are doing. Even if the hard times outweigh the good times.
Find the minutes of joy. The seconds even. And enjoy them. Or you will regret it later. You will beat yourself up for worrying so much.
Cooper is only seven for a minute. I want to enjoy as much as I can. You should too.
Interested in writing for Finding Cooper’s Voice? LEARN MORE
Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook and subscribe to our newsletter.
whenever I feel broken and I know nobody would understand why, I come to this blog to read.and I know deeply that here I can find hope in the next few years. (my son is still 4 years old)
so Thank You for posting
Beautifully written article. So glad he has pulled out of his anxiety to open up to new things! Wish him many fun adventures and laughter.