Every new beginning is some other beginning's end

The day that had only been looming in the back of my mind for the last 3 years.....well that day came and went this morning.

Caden turns 3 on Sunday. Today he had his last class with his little Early Intervention play group, and had the last therapy appointment he will ever have with any of his 'team'. He has officially exited the program.

I knew this day existed. From day one in the program I knew it was out there. I knew what it meant. I thought my having a hard time with it would be solely because it meant my baby was growing up into a big boy.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

I woke up this morning prepared. Or so I thought. I got up, got him dressed, did his hair, drove Branden to work; it was business as usual. Until I pulled into the school's parking lot. It suddenly hit me: Every person in that building we saw today, today would likely be the last day we saw any of them personally. His little brain wouldn't understand what that meant.

Mine did.

We saw his PT, Barbara, in the halls before his class started. We talked. He even got to see one of his first speech therapists we didn't see at the Christmas party, remembered her (I think) and gave her a hug. I was *fine*....until it was time to go into class and Barbara knelt down on the floor at Caden's level and he walked up to her, laid his head down on her shoulder in a hug, and gave her a kiss. It was a good thing that we both had places to be, because my composure was sliding fast.

He played hard in class, I was fine again during the parent group they have in the building while their kids are in class. Then it was time to go. I was ok getting him from the classroom, relatively composed as he gave each of his teachers and hug and a love and told them 'bye bye, see you!', did fairly good as I gave 'Teacher Sue' a hug myself and we walked down the hall and out of the building.

I dissolved in the car.

You don't interact with those kinds of people on that kind of level for 3 years and not get attached. I don't know how they do it kid after kid after kid, because I was a completely mental, sobbing basket-case on the drive home.

I snapped back into 'keep it together woman!' mode for his last speech therapist appointment, which was right after class and at home, and held it together long enough to get him fed lunch and put down for a nap. Once he was asleep it hit me again.

We were done.

I know that he will have a new support team as he moves into his preschool at Canyonview. He'll love his new class. He'll learn new things. He'll grow. He'll be fine. Where does that leave Mommy? His turning 3 didn't just mean he was growing up, moving on, it meant leaving behind people that have been part of my life, coming into my home every other week and every month since he was 6 weeks old. They became every bit as much MY support team as they were Caden's.

I love them all. And as corny as it might sound, I feel as though I've lost dear friends.

I am going to miss having their beautiful spirits as a presence in my home.

Touched by Angels

I can't believe I'm writing this. Caden will be 3 years old in less than 2 weeks. Wait, 3..?!? Where the HECK did the time go? I am quite certain that just a few weeks ago I was holding him in my arms for the first time ever and marveling at how right he felt in that place. Now he'll have preschool, and be riding a school bus, and meeting new little friends and having new experiences that might overwhelm or even frighten him at first. Man,turning 3 is going to be so hard....on Mommy. Not just because he's getting to be such a big boy and learning and growing in leaps and bounds, but because of what turning 3 means we have to now leave behind us.

I had very specific dreams / visions of first-time motherhood. My baby would curl their little fist around my finger as they nursed, their little feet would scrunch up against me as I held them chest-to-chest, and their little body would be just as perfect as could possibly be.

Then I had Caden.

Those dreams dissolved, awash in diagnoses I barely understood. My baby couldn't curl his fist around my finger because his own fingers didn't bend, he couldn't scrunch his feet up against my chest because he lived the first 4 weeks of life in plaster casts and the rest of the time in boots with a bar between his feet, and his little body overall was far from 'perfect'. We were told he probably wouldn't walk without some kind of external adaptive means of aid, were warned that he might never hold a pencil or crayon or spoon or be able to feed and dress himself. What a reality, I thought.

Then I met the 'team' from Early Intervention that was chosen to work with him, as they came and went in his life and in terms of his care as each saw him. Now, because of them, I have a new reality: My baby can curl all but his very top knuckle on both hands, he learned to walk on his own (even if late) without any external means to keep him upright, he's learned to hold pencils and crayons and spoons, and has met every other major milestone so far in his life either on time or just a few months (instead of years) behind. Because of them, Caden has a new reality as well. They helped him get to where he is today; a stupidly happy 3 year old who loves school, loves people, loves life, and can experience it as most any other toddler his age would. They helped him express that joy when it came time to master sign language and then speech, and fed that joy with an outpouring of love whenever they saw him, in a therapy setting or not.

His little mind may need some jogging in the years to come to recall their names and faces....but his mother will NEVER forget. As he moves into his 3rd birthday and we prepare to leave these precious people, I know that his 'team' will never leave us. They have made their mark. And I can look people in the eye and declare without hesitation - or doubt - that my life has been touched by Angels.

Tonight at the Early Intervention Christmas party, I gave them (as a group) a little plant with bright yellow leaves, with a little note I'd written that read simply:

"Doctors told Mom I was 'different',
People said I'd be slow,
So I just wanted to say thank-you...
For helping me grow."

My heart is so full, and 'Thank you' will never be enough for these people.

Caden's Early Intervention team:

Bottom, L to R: Teacher Becky, Teacher Sue, Judy (OT)
Top, L to R: Barbara (PT), Suellen (Speech), Michelle (RN)