I’m Learning how to be his Mom

On Saturday morning, at 5:45 am, I casually mentioned to Cooper that I was going to Target at some point.

I was chatting away to him when I worked it into the conversation. The words ‘Target’ and ‘birthday party.’

I talk to him all the time like this when we are alone. In the car. Or awake before anyone else gets up.

I go on and on. Mostly nonsense really.

I talk about the news. And how much I love coffee.

I talk about Sawyer’s schedule. And our plans for the day.

I ask him questions. I tell him stories.

I point out trains and elephants in commercials.

I talk a lot to my nonverbal son.

He doesn’t answer back. Not ever really.

Sometimes he’ll grunt. Often he smiles. If I mention things he loves like trains or swimming, he’ll look up from whatever he is doing and stare at me.

Sometimes I say those words just so he’ll look up and smile. I do it so I know he is listening. And because I want the connection.

I just talk. Because he is my son. And I am his mom.

And not one person prepared me for the emotional roller coaster of nonverbal.

I talk for him. And for me.

I talk because I want him to be part of our world. To feel included.

I want him to know that he can chime in at anytime and answer me. Or tell me to be quiet.

A small part of me has this dream that one day he’ll look up at me, maybe when he’s 10 or 15, and just start talking.

Full sentences. Bam. I imagine he’ll say something like, ‘I love trains because they are big and loud and you talk way too much mom.’

I even let myself imagine what that will feel like. And what his voice will sound like.

I imagine he will look at me with those soulful eyes and smile. And say, ‘you just had to be patient mom.’

I even imagine that we will talk about all the years we waited for this very moment. And how mom was so scared.

I also talk to my son because I can’t take the silence sometimes. It’s deafening.

Sometimes the silence takes my breath away.

Anyhow, when I mentioned going to Target to buy a birthday present he gasped. Loudly.

I burst out laughing at his enthusiasm.

And because of course that is what he hears. He is my son. And we love Target.

Like a flash he jumped up, ran up the stairs, grabbed his LuLaRoe leggings, two mismatched socks, and a t-shirt.

He was fully dressed by 6 am, shoes and coat in hand.

And continued to follow me around the house until we left at 10 am.

This is new for me. My son, who used to refuse to leave the house for years, wanted to go to Target. With me. Just the two of us.

It means a lot to me.

Honestly, I probably can’t even really convey to you now much it means to me.

Cooper has made huge, ginormous gains in the last 3 months. Since starting his anti-anxiety medication he is thriving.

I would say his anxiety used to consistently be at a 10 or 12. On a good day it was at an 8.

His anxiety controlled everything. It controlled me. My emotions. The outcome of my day. Even our family.

I felt his anxiety in my heart, stomach, brain and soul.

But lately, it’s at a 2 or a 3 on a normal day. And a 5 on a bad day.

For any family that has a child with anxiety, you know a 5 is amazing. You can leave the house with a 5.

You can let out that breath you are always holding. You can smile. You can sit down. You can somewhat relax.

Anyhow, our trip to Target was a huge success. Cooper walked in safely. He held my hand. He sat in the cart.

We were able to make it through the whole store. We took our time. He let me put stuff in the cart. He picked out a Peppa Pig movie.

When we got to the self check out, I felt his anxiety start to rise. He didn’t want to give up his movie for me to scan.

He started to rock the cart. And scream a bit. I could see the signs right in front of me.

Anxiety. Nonverbal, loud, very real, anxiety.

In that moment, I stopped what I was doing fully.

I let everyone but us disappear.

I walked to the front of the cart, bent down, grabbed his face gently with my hands, looked right into his eyes, and had a conversation.

I talked to him. I did it for him. So he could have success. And I did it for me. Because my anxiety was rising too.

I talked to him for a minute. And a minute is a long time.

People were behind me. They were staring. Watching. But I refused to be hurried.

We talked it through.

And we had success. Huge, huge success.

I’m telling you all this because I am learning to slow down. I am learning to not care what people think.

I’m learning to not let my own anxiety rush me. Or to feed off of his anxiety.

I’m learning that his success is all that matters. Not what other people think.

I’m learning to bridge the gap between my son and the rest of the world. I’ve learned that is one of my most important jobs as his mom.

And to teach my son about the world…and the world about my son.

I’m learning how to be his mom. And how to give him what he needs, when he needs it.

And it’s working. It only took me 8 years to figure it out.

To learn more about our journey with anti-anxiety medication click HERE.

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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, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.