The proper focus

This is about N.  But at the same time it isn't; it's about every kid everywhere, every kind, every IQ, every diagnosis or lack thereof.

My wild and strong N, as she's always been and I suspect she always will be.  From birth, an intense and severe child prone to fits and rage and stubborn rigidity.  She circles the periphery of playrooms and playgrounds alike while other kids are busy taking turns on slides and swings.  She is fixated on her belly button and rubbing a pacifier across her cheek.  She spins 'round the room and the words she speaks are sing-songy.  Her words didn't come until 20 months of age.   And even now, she communicates but she doesn't interact.

You may draw certain conclusions about my N based on the above words, just as I did when she hit 18-months-old and wasn't turning when I called out her name.  At the time, figuring "it" out meant everything to me.  Hindsight is a real pain, but there was no way to gain perspective without pushing ahead with appointments and tests and evaluations;  I knew what the label would be, but I needed to hear it from someone with letters behind their name.  I had to be told, I had to hear, I had to be promised it wasn't just bad parenting.

The thing about N is that she wasn't NOT learning.  She just happened to be learning in an obscenely different manner and on her very own timeline apart from the one A chose to follow in her toddler years.  She prefers to do things alone, without me holding her hand and giving her instruction.  In fact, if I'm touching her at all while she's making an intellectual or developmental discovery, she'll let me know just how displeased she is.  I had to rethink my approach on every little thing, adapt to meet her personal needs.  I had to understand that my N is like a rubik's cube.  We work and work and work and we get closer and closer to figuring out the puzzle, but one wrong twist, one turn too many, and the entire thing is thrown back into chaos.

But is this so unreasonable?  For any child?  N, with her quirks and eccentricities and fixations... she may require a specific approach but why shouldn't every child be shown such respect?  I mean, they're individuals, and just as we desire recognition of the differences in our own needs versus someone else's,  shouldn't we extend the same courtesy to all of our children?  To reach the optimum level of learning and achievement, couldn't we try this with each kid we have and not just the ones who are deemed behind or slow enough to require "special" attention?  Which isn't to say N is slow.  On the contrary, as long as I step back and give her the space she desires, she excels.  She simply prefers to not talk about it with people.  When the evaluating physician informed my husband and I that she had very little comprehension, we had to explain that it's not she doesn't understand you.  She just has very little time with which to concern herself with us mere mortals.

And on the topic of special, wouldn't it be better to shift our focus from "special" needs to "different" needs?  I've gotten down to N's level, listened to where her shouts of protest are leading me and keep in mind the next time what worked the time before.  But, just like you and me, somedays she needs something new, someone to try a fresh approach with her.

I've even done my best to keep in mind not to default to "typical" methods with W but to pay attention to what works best for her even at less than a year's worth of life.  To understand that even if N doesn't catch on as quickly to certain bit of information, it doesn't mean that she won't ever and that too can be contributed to different kid, different style of learning.

At the end of each day I take a deep breath and I remember:  What resonates with me may mean nothing to you, just as words spoken to A may be a jumbled mess to N and vice versa.

Forget that label, and remember that what she really is, is herself.  What we all are, is ourselves.