My Arch Nemesis: The Milestone Chart

Oh Great Milestone Chart, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways…

When Emma was born and immediately diagnosed with Down syndrome, I was devastated. It took me months to wrap my head around the uncertainty of the future and to see all that Emma was instead of all that she wasn’t. It took some serious time to let go of my assumptions and understand the reality of the no-guarantee purchase; a force consistent in all human life, but made so much more obvious in mine. That realization was the beginning of my education in more ways than one.

The academic in me sought out every available piece of research and devoured teaching theories and strategies. Soon enough I began to see opportunities all around us and renewed my faith in my own determination and perseverance. Down syndrome became a formidable opponent in my eyes, but one that I was worthy enough to challenge. I was a force to be reckoned with, and I would raise Emma in those footsteps. I saw her syndrome as less than finite, something ever-evolving, a thing I would tackle and together we could beat. Of course, that was before I realized that I wasn't in charge any more than Down syndrome was. Indeed it was and is Emma who is the only quarterback in the game. She is the king and the queen - not my pawn any more than that of her extra chromosome. She moves her own pieces no matter how much I want to hold my hand over hers.

Much to my chagrin, as she neared the end of her first year she began to slip off those pesky Milestone Charts, in spite of all of our good works. In some cases it was more of a dive-bomb than anything else. It was heartbreaking to watch her steady and now predictable descent. It wasn’t that she didn’t hit those markers and milestones, and it wasn’t that they weren’t just as important (if not more so), it was that they were delayed, Delayed, DELAYED. Did I mention that they were delayed?

Out of sheer frustration and a deep sense of powerlessness, I bitterly canceled my subscription to the baby updates I received from those mommy websites unsuspecting mothers seem to get suckered into during pregnancy. The Milestone Chart and I were officially feuding and I vindictively (and with a wee bit o' glee to boot) shredded it (guess who was quiet then). I closed my books and filed them away on the bookshelf. I began to resign myself to fate. To give up.

As a result I started spending more time with Emma, real quality time; unconditional, untherapeutic, and meandering time. Time whiling away the days and languishing in each other's company. Time without lists and check-marks; goals put off for another day or twelve. It wasn't long before I realized how wonderful it is, how liberating it is to just be. I surrendered to the unknown as I handed the reins over to my dear Emma, acknowledging that she could be the only driver of this cab. I would guide, I would assist, I would help, but I would never drive. It was my time to trust and enjoy the ride.

Sometimes she drives fast, sometimes not so much. Sometimes it is a jumpy, ever-so-bumpy ride; sometimes it is smoother than I could ever imagine. Always, though, always it is an exhilarating trip because there is nowhere else I would ever want to be (assuming that vacationing on a tropical island while drinking gigantic drinks of a fruity nature and enjoying the view of nearby cabana boys is out). This is the place for me, in the passenger side (who knew?), next to my most amazing creation who, at three, has already surpassed me in so many ways. Barely a preschooler and she is already living out loud; living on her terms.

Wowza.

Where can I check that off?

This is likely no different than any other child excepting I know this truth already. Parents of typical children are able to flirt with the illusion of control until their children are old enough to permanently ruin those relationships. While that illusion is oh-so-enchanting, it is and always will remain a falsity, like a well-painted jalopy masquerading as an antique car. As frightening as we might think it is to only ride shotgun, it is also freeing to never know where the day will take you. The maps and guidebooks are tucked safely away in the glove box for now and we are loving the freedom to drive into the sunset just because it is beautiful.

As for the Milestone Charts of yesterday, I have often wondered why, if I embrace this freedom so, why do I still dread them? Why am I so threatened by their very existence? They certainly serve a purpose by defining typical development and identifying potential concerns (not to mentioning the bragging rights many claim from their authority - oh wait, yes, that is one of the reasons that I despise Milestone Charts). I think the essence of my loathing is that those charts represent a summation of all that Emma isn’t without any recognition of all that she is. Maybe my betrayal (yes, yes, it is a very personal offense I take to them - as though they killed my dog and stole my bible) would be mitigated if there was another chart where I could reference her most meaningful milestones, the ones that bespeak of her human development. Maybe if there was a chart that listed the first time she signed “I love you” or comforted me when I was upset I would feel a little less bitter. Maybe if there was a chart that I could have checked off “has stopped poking the cat in the eye and now sleeps curled up with the dog”, “stayed on timeout for the entire punishment”, or "helped daddy make cookies" (I don't hang in the kitchen. . .ever), maybe then I would feel like the world was a bit more ready for her. Maybe, just maybe, if I could chart MY development to be signed, notarized, and certified to my own permanent record and could check off “has realized child is her own person” I would feel like the file cabinets of the world would be a bit more balanced.

At the end of the day Emma may have walked late, but she fed me cheerios just on time. And that's what really matters to me. All that she is.

*Oh, Note to Growth Chart - did you notice that Miss Em has finally climbed back up your slippery slope? Yeah, how do you like us now? Whose your daddy? Say it.*

Day 2