Typically, when you hear the word “delayed”, you think frustration, inconvenience, annoyance. A flight that’s hours behind schedule. A package that didn’t arrive in time. A lunch date that never came to be.
But when you’re a parent, and that word is used in context of your baby, you can’t think. Because a kid, well, being in charge of a whole entire kid is a lot more pressure than missing a meeting or deadline along the way. Your kid is your everything. And you just want them to be ok.
I get that now. First hand. Because Pink is officially the D word. Delayed. It’s one of those things you know as a parent—in your gut. But you shrug it off, you let everyone convince you that there’s a wide range of “normal” (because, of course, there is). Then somewhere along the line, people (the kind with degrees on the wall) start agreeing that maybe your baby needs a little extra help. Gulp.
It started about six months ago. Pink never really learned to roll over. She screams through tummy time and immediate falls out of crawling position if you force her into it…refuses to plant her feet when you attempt to put her into standing position most of the time. She’s one stubborn girl and she knows what she doesn’t want. She’s also smart. She’s figured out a work around. She scoots everywhere on her butt. It’s hilarious, fast and efficient. But she’s stuck. She hasn’t developed the muscles or coordination required to pull herself up, to stand or to walk. Pink has a gross motor delay.
The good news about the word delay is that there’s hope. Before this, I would never have associated the word hope with delay. But there is hope. Delay. She’ll get there eventually. She just needs a little extra help along the way. And you can be sure I’ll get it for her.
So what now? (Besides physical therapy for the unforeseeable future, of course.) I’m going to embrace my baby. Because that’s the beauty of a delay. (Again, beauty and delay, a funny combination.) I get to hold on to my baby—this itty bitty, magically disappearing baby stage—a little bit longer. While other double-digit monthers are running away from their moms, mine will still be in my arms (which just may be a bit more shapely at the end of all of this!). For just a little bit longer.
But I’ll do my job as a mom. I’ll do whatever I can to help push her, to build her confidence and strength. To make up for whatever I’ve done to hold her back along the way. And before I know it, the struggle, the fear, the D word—they’ll all be a distant memory. Right along with the B word. Baby.
This post is sponsored by Disney Baby. I’ll be joining the Disney Baby blogging team next month, and look forward to sharing these kinds of stories (projects/ideas/etc) with you over there! Stay tuned for more details!