My Tiny Dancer
With all of this reflecting on motherhood itself, I somehow have yet to share in depth about my actual children. Each of my babies is unique and special to me in their own way. But my youngest (almost 18 months old) is extra special, quite literally, because she has an extra chromosome.
Welcoming a child with trisomy 21, or Down Syndrome into our family has brought a whole new set of challenges, triumphs, and experiences to the table. I have a strong desire to share the highs and lows of this chapter of parenting in a way that is real, raw, and relatable to those that may walk the same path. But for today, I would like to simply share a recent revelation I’ve had.
One of my favorite things about my youngest daughter is her dancing. It’s a little wiggle from side to side, hips, shoulders and head shaking. The expression on her face when she is dancing is pure unfiltered giddiness. She is happy and silly and adorable and she absolutely knows it. She smiles and her eyes twinkle. She looks at me or her daddy or one of her older siblings because she is dancing with us and connecting and knowing that we are proud of her and want to soak up the beam of her smile like the brightest ray of sunshine. And we beam back at her because it is such utter joy watching her, being with her, experiencing her.
Sometimes it’s really quick. Or maybe I just catch it too late, and she stops almost as soon as I look at her. It’s another little game, and she teases us and strings us along, lapping up the attention, the power, like any toddler would.
“Dance” was one of the first words I knew she understood, one of the first actions I could definitively say she was connecting to my verbal prompt without any other kind of cue. And I don’t even really remember how it happened exactly. It’s not something I was consciously trying to teach her. We would just play and sing and wiggle and suddenly it seemed deliberate so I tested it out day after day to double check and sure enough she knew what she was doing.
Sometimes she would start dancing while I was holding her and I took that as my cue to start singing. And then we would play around, I would stop and wait for her to dance more before I would start singing again. Such a simple sweet playful routine that meant so much knowing how we’ve been pouring into her and waiting to see her blossom.
There is a caveat that comes with the territory of parenting a child with special needs. So much of it is exactly the same as parenting any typical child in so many ways. But the caveat is that we take nothing for granted and make no assumptions. We hope and pray that she will reach her milestones in her own time. And we are patient, supportive, encouraging. But each goal she reaches is a huge celebration, a deep sigh of relief because we know how hard she has worked for all her tiny victories.
What really gets me lately is how I constantly catch her dancing, mostly sitting in her high chair for any given meal. More often than not, I don’t even notice that a song is playing on the ipad or someone’s phone. A theme song from a show the kids are watching, or background music to a social media post, anything. I’ve probably learned to subconsciously tune these kinds of things out. But she hears it immediately and seizes the opportunity to bust a move. Just wiggling that little booty in her chair, head bopping, with a smile that could melt an iceberg.
And it struck me today that this is the best description of or analogy for my daughter that I could ever think of. She is always dancing, catching every opportunity to shine and spread joy. She dances even when no one else really hears or notices the music, because she is our reminder to stop and notice and appreciate the beautiful, small, simple, powerful details of life. She is my reminder to let the music sink in and move me, even when I am too busy to hear it or too focused to celebrate it. She makes me want to anyway. She starts the celebration; she IS the celebration. I hope she never stops dancing and I will join her every single time.
