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My Special Needs Son Made Me Beautiful
Kristi is one of my very favourite writers to read (if that makes sense). I stumbled across her blog, quite by accident, and very rapidly found myself hooked; on her words, on her thoughts, on the way she constructed her sentences, and above all, on the way she is absolutely *determined* to make the world a better place for her gorgeous son, Tucker. There are times when you read something, and it shoots right to the core of your soul and sits there, glittering with wonder. That’s what Kristi’s writing can do to me – I hope it does the same to you. It is my pleasure to introduce you to her, in her first Sisterwives post – Lizzi
I’d just had an amazing evening with the man I met. We’d eaten too much seafood at a trendy, but still little known downtown restaurant, risked a second 16-ounce beer, taken a walk along the waterside in the too-hot but almost tolerable July heat, and tentatively talked about the next date that we were sure to have. We’d suggestively touched one another on the arm, accidentally on purpose bumped hips, and were reveling in peacocking, sharing, and holding back, just enough. It was, after all, our first official date.
As far as first dates go, it wasn’t met with as much of the unknown as much as one would expect. We’d spent almost four weeks, online, sharing life stories, emails, photos, and our personal dreams and hurts. We’d emailed, and finally had the nerve to talk over the phone about our lives, and the fact that he had been married twice, and that I had been married once.
Oh, did we talk. His early emails were some of the best of my life. We were also both hesitant, and a little bit broken.
We were together already but both hesitant to trust again.
Divorced. Damaged.
There had been some healing time for both of us, though. We’d pursued and found enough of healing, broken, and and all of the betweens. We’d grown up and grown older, and were ready for a new relationship that might be able to thrive, regardless of most of the bullshit, the insurmountable barriers, and our broken pasts.
Of course, this perfect projectory meant that on our third date, I let him go. I was sure that my late-night confession given with tears shed into a muffled and selfish pillow would mean that he’d quietly leave, close the door as softly as possible, and never look back. After all, he already had two children which came with two ex wives that would be in his life forever. Saying the words “I want a baby,” followed by the too-fast, tripping over themselves words of “and of courseIknowYouAlreadyHaveTwoSoIfYouWantToLeaveIUnderstand…”
I was convinced that telling this man that I wanted to have a baby would be the dealbreaker.
He stayed.
He’s still here. We got married, and well, it’s the next part of the story that really matters, I suppose. Although, with that said, all of the parts of all of our stories matter. Maybe, in this case, and all of the cases, it’s simply the telling of them that counts.
This man agreed to have a baby with me. I’ll spare you the details and the heartbreak and the hope and the eventual givingupness to say that during the month that we didn’t try to get pregnant, we did.
And, that, when I was 40, the little dude planted inside of me stuck. Imagine that. Which, really, although this story begins at falling in love, it truly begins here, because of today.
When pregnant, I was terrified. All of my doctor paperwork was stamped with the somewhat embarrassing and foreboding AMA (advanced maternal age) warning. When, at 26 weeks, I was identified with having an incompetent cervix, I tried, once again, to not have any hope. The odds were against me, and coworkers sympathized with the fact that I might have a baby, but that he’d likely be *insert comment and derogatory slur here,* due to my advanced maternal age.
I guess the joke – if there is one – is on all of us, though.
While I worried about having a deformed or special needs baby while he was in utero, he was born. And from the minute I laid eyes on him, I have known that I will do everything I can to make this world a better place for him. I could have cared less what was wrong or right with him. I was blessed to become a mom, and I was very thankful, and terrified over it.
When my son Tucker was born, there were no concerns. The tests and the APGAR scores were fine and perfect, and he latched onto breastfeeding before I did. He taught me about nature, nurture, and life. He taught me about living, because living is more important than the day to day. He taught me to re-appreciate stars and sun and that the leaves on trees both fallen and reborn. Kinda like I was. Fallen and reborn.
Reborn to a new world, with new knowledge. Now, I know that all of us are imperfectly perfect, exactly as we are. That all of us are broken and whole and fully and insanely beautiful, no matter what we look like, sound like, or feel like.
My son has taught me that fireflies are magical, that butterflies are first chrysalises, which is an important distinction from cocoons that I’m not sure I still understand – but he does – and he’s shown me light that I’d never have hoped for on that dark and tear-soaked pillow night, long ago, when I gave his dad an ultimatum.
My son has developmental delays. His speech sucks, compared to that of his peers. He struggles with language, control, smells, light, and sound. And none of these struggles are because of what I went through with his dad, or with my body, or because of the age in which I conceived him. And none of these struggles define who he is. He’s just a little five year old boy who loves fart jokes, water guns, the beach, life, and his mama.
Many of us struggle with special needs, and knowing that our children are not typical. It hurts to see the new drawings in their kindergarten class be so much “less than” their peers’ drawings. It does. But there’s also something perfect about it all. After all, our kids are here, and teaching us more than we’re teaching them. And this life? To me, that’s what it’s all about.
My son’s delays have absolutely nothing to do with who he is. He is a chrysalis after all. And every single day that I am blessed to be his mama on this earth, I marvel at who he is today, and who he will become. That chrysalis will fly. His caterpillar self, his language-struggling self, and his soon to be flying selves are all complete, imperfectly perfect, and insanely beautiful. And, because of him, so am I. Because of him, we all are.
Kristi Rieger Campbell’s passion is writing and drawing stupid-looking pictures for her blog, Finding Ninee. It began with a memoir about her special-needs son Tucker, abandoned when she read that a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another memoir. Kristi writes for a variety of parenting websites including Huffington Post Parents, has been published in four popular anthologies, received 2014 BlogHer’s Voice of the Year People’s Choice Award, and was a proud cast member of the DC Listen to Your Mother show. Find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
You can watch Kristi’s Listen To Your Mother piece below. It. Is. Stunning.
“Teaching us more than we’re teaching them…” Beautiful. And so true.
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It really is…
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This is beautiful..and you and your son are beautiful. Thank you for sharing!
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Thank you so much for reading, Michelle!!
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Perfect…heart-breakingly perfect…
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Thank you so so much…
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Tucker is such a handsome little dude. You guys are both beauties and perfect and probably a little fucked up too, but we all are. Thanks for sharing. You with these sisterwives is a whole lot of awesomeness.
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We are most definitely a little fucked up, too…but yeah, we all are. Sisterwives is awesomeness!
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Kristi, you already know how happy and honoured and proud and joyful I am that you wrote this beautiful piece for the Sisterwives blog. I loveadore it completely and cannot say enough how gorgeous I think Tucker is, or how glad I am that you are my beautiful friend. Thank you for the message in this piece. As ever, it makes me want to help make the world a better place. ♡
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Lizzi, I am SOSOSO happy to have my words on your fabulous Sister Wives site. It truly is an honor and thank you. I’ll agree with you that Tucker is utterly gorgeous because he is and share your sentiments about being so very glad and happy and honored to have YOU as such an amazing and beautiful friend. ❤
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*blushes* Well thanks 🙂
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Kristi, you know you are one of my all time favorites. I have that special tug in my heart for you. In this messed up world, where people have perfectly ‘typical’ children (if there is such a thing) and they throw them away, in you walk. You have this incredibly beautiful child who may not be perfect but you love him, keep him, protect him, and strive to make the world a better place for him. I admire your strength, your honesty, your ginormous heart, and your profanity peppered writing. I know I’ve told you many time how blessed Tucker is to have you. I mean it even more when I say it today.
I really enjoyed the first part of this story. The love story from the beginning. I’ve never heard it and it is, like you, spectacular.
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Aw, Sandy! Your comment has me all choked up. You are one of my very favorites so that works out excellently! Thank you so much for your sweet words — here’s to making the world a better place for Tucker and for all of us. Regarding the first part of the story – it’s hard to believe now that I expected Robert to walk away, but I really truly did. I’m so glad that he didn’t.
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Since my first of two sons was born, I have always said that having a child was the first and only time that I learned what true and unconditional love was and that it was possible in this world. He’s 19 now and his brother is 16, and my view of things has changed a bit as I struggle with them as teenagers. 😉 But, yes, at birth and for many years afterwards, I loved my boys unconditionally. There is a purity and innocence there that you capture beautifully with this piece and your tribute to your son. He is Tucker, nothing more and nothing less, but he is everything to you.
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You said it perfectly – he is very much everything to me. We’ll see about when he’s a teenager 😉
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The love you have for Tucker–and by extension, for everyone–comes through so powerfully in your posts. I hope that kindergarten is going well for both of you!
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Kristi, kindergarten is going really really well – thank you so much for asking!
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Kristi, you are amazing. Tucker is amazing. You both make me smile and give me hope.
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You’re not so bad yourself, TD. Here’s to hope. And smiles.
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Smiles rule.
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Thank you. It’s touching and heartfelt and lovely.
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Thank you!!!
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I am too emotionally vulnerable for all the love and strength on this blog. I have. To brace myself before I read. But the roller coaster is worth it.
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❤
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Thanks
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Kristi, beautiful, as always:). Awe-inspiring, really! Yes you are beautiful and so is Tucker and I love the adventure you share with us. I also totally enjoyed hearing about how you and your husband met! I LOVE it@!
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Thank you so much, Allie!!! I don’t talk much about my husband I guess. Maybe I should let him read this. I might get a backrub out of it 😉
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As if your written word was not powerful enough I went ahead and watched the video of you speaking about your life with Tucker. WOW! So very real beautify and raw. 🙂
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Thank you so much for watching the video too!! I really appreciate it!
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———-Kristi,
you. inspire. me.
LOOOOOOOOve the video, Mama Bear. xxxxx LOVE from MN.
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Love right back at you, Inner Chick.
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I freaking love everything you write, Kristi. I love that you see Tucker as the amazing little boy that he is, that you take the time to LISTEN — not just to acknowledge, but really, to listen — to the lessons he has for you, to the magic that he has shown you. I love that you guide each other through this crazy world of ours.
I can’t wait to watch him fly, and I know he will, because he is amazing, and he has been blessed with such an incredible and supportive mom.
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I freaking love everything you write, Kristi. I love that you see Tucker as the amazing little boy that he is, that you take the time to LISTEN — not just to acknowledge, but to really, truly listen — to the lessons he has for you, to the magic that he has shown you. I love that you guide each other through this crazy world of ours.
I can’t wait to watch him fly, and I know he will, because he is freaking awesome and he has been blessed with such an amazing and supportive mom.
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Aw, Kerry – I freaking love everything YOU write and was blown away – as always – by yours on Tuesday. ❤
I love that he helps to guide me through this life, and that your words, and all of our words help to guide all of us. And I look forward to watching him fly, too. Fly the way you have, wearing holes in his shoes because THAT is flying.
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That photo…That photo simply says everything there is to know. I love it.
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Thanks, Christine!
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“Imperfectly perfect and insanely beautiful”
Exactly that. My son has autism and duchenne muscular dystrophy, possibly an auditory processing disorder, and yes, he is so insanely beautiful and perfect in his imperfections that it is unreal. I have learned more about life, and the importance of those small things, as his mom than I ever did before him. It hurts watching him struggle, but it is also one of the best highs to see him succeed, and, sometimes, be accepted for being himself. I might wish for a cure, a way to keep him here with me longer, but I wouldn’t trade the heartache I know is coming for anything in the world, knowing that I get this wonderful boy, who has already touched so many, and made my life so much richer. It’s true, your heart literally walks out of the womb with them! ❤
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Aw, here’s to our perfect and beautiful kids. They truly do make the world a better place!!
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As always, spot on. And perfect for me to read just minutes before I leave for my son’s IEP meeting. Loved reading the story of your relationship with Tucker’s dad too!
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I hope the IEP went well! They can be so stressful!
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Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. I love every word of this Kristi. Through this, your beautiful heart shines like the sun. You are an incredible example for every parent. xoxo
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Aw, thanks Beth!! xxoo I feel all glowy now.
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This is such a beautiful tribute to your sweet boy but also to you as a mother. I agree with Beth. You’re such a great example of a parent. I think I needed to read this today. Thank you for sharing it here, for writing for us, and for helping me to take a closer internal look at myself.
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Wow, thanks Mandi! What a sweet and uplifting comment. Happy Saturday!
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Kristi, I’m so glad to have yet another place to read your lovely words! This may be about what Tucker’s taught you, but I have to say that you have taught me so much about parenting and love and perspective with each of your posts. 🙂
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Aw, Michele!!! And you, me, my friend. I am so honored to have done the LTYM show with you… and so so happy for you that you’re entering a new phase of parenting now… xxoo
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As a few other women said, it was so nice to hear a little about the before-Tucker story. I really feel blessed to be able to follow Tucker’s growth – and yours – through all of your writing. I always want to hug my kids after I read, because you remind me how unbelievably amazing and special each one of our children is.
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Dana! Yikes. (said in Scooby Doo voice) that I can maybe sometimes do that. I feel blessed to know YOU, and wow, maybe one of these days, I should write more about Robert’s and my story. You did such a good job of that with your husband, this summer… and before…
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This was a absolutely heart wrenchingly beautiful. I am reminded of all my step-mother (the mother of my heart) did to fight for my eldest step-sister who was born in 1947 with Downs, a time when they usually hid children with special needs away. Not my sister, she was raised at home and blessed us all.
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Beautiful piece. My son has autism, and he surprises me every day. I hope I surprise him every so often, too.
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