We started our special needs journey when Adelaide was 9 months old.

She wasn’t able to sit up at her 6 month appointment.

We decided to give her some more time.

Special Needs Parent

Then, she started regressing.

She went from almost being able to sit up to collapsing in half.


I kept thinking, “She will sit up at her 9 month appointment. Everything will be fine.” 

But she wasn’t rolling to one side or reaching across her midline or playing with toys.

It wasn’t until that 9 month appointment when I finally admitted that something was very wrong.

And then we immediately started collecting stuff.


Gear. 

Books.

Videos.

Toys.

Shoes.

It seemed like having a kiddo with special needs was going to undo our pseudo-minimalistic household.


We have 5 people in 900 sq ft with very few complaints.

Except all of Adelaide's things.

I found myself complaining about it very loudly last week.

More like whining.

I had bruised my foot on the stander.


Then scratched my leg on the wheelchair. 

The drool scarves, bibdanas, and bibs had outgrown their drawer and were sitting in a laundry basket in my once perfect double nursery.

The walls lined with physical therapy toys.

Then I tripped over the gait trainer.

I kept it PG, but was probably bordering on R-rated in my heart.


"I can't live with all this stuff! Our house looks like a storage room of discontinued special needs crap! 

It's lining every wall and filling every available basket. She has stuff everywhere!"

Orthotics, extra wide shoes, double-sided spoons, cloth diapers, seizure med syringes, knee-high socks, chewable books, bottles, mini trampoline, nested AFOs, crawling & sitting toys, chewelry, highchairs, asthma meds, glasses, a sign language library, riding toys, and baskets of oral stimulation toys.

So many baskets.

In the moment when I should've been thankful for all we had, I was crying.


My house looked like a special needs storage unit. 

And it took less than three years to get that way.

It no longer felt like a home.

No one warned me about the day when I would look around and hate all of it.

Downright loathe it all.


I wanted to throw it all onto the front yard and go back to our life before that first MRI. 

Back to the time when our baby needed the bare minimum.

When I could see our baseboards.

But we can't go back.

And Adelaide may live with us all her days.


Her gear will just get bigger and bigger. 

Her crib will become a special bed.

Her bath seat will become a bath chair.

And when that happens, I will look back at this time of little things for a little girl and wonder why I didn't just buy some more baskets and a bottle of wine.

More like this please...
 

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